PRINCETON,     N".     J. 


lesmfed  mt 


,y. 


Division . 

Section  ... 

Shelf. Number. 


Set 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2011  with  funding  from 

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THE   END  OF  TIME 


A   POEM   OF  THE   FUTURE 

BY 

L.  G.  BARBOUR,  D.D. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW   YORK  LONDON 

27  West  Twenty-third  St.  24  Bedford  St.,  Strand 

®Ij£  guuckcrbochn  |htss 
1802 


Copyright,   189a 

BY 

L.   G.  BARBOUR 
(All  Rights  Reserved) 


Electroryped,  Printed,  and  Bound  by 

Ube  IRnfcfeerbocfcer  press,  IRew  j^orfe 
G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 


THE  END  OF  TIME 


THE  END  OF  TIME. 

PROEM. 

Scenk  :  Heaven. 

ANGELS. 

Still  winging  on  our  endless  flight, 
From  the  great,  silent  Past  we  come  ; 
And  age  on  age  hath  sunk  in  night, 
Since  first  we  knew  Thee,  God  our  Home. 
Sweeter,  than  in  those  earliest  hours, 
Each  voice  attuned  Thy  praise  to  sing  ; 
And  mightier  every  angel  wing, 
Than  when  it  tried  its  new-fledged  powers. 


Ages  on  ages  countless  lie 

Before  our  view,  and  we  shall  gain 

A  stronger  arm,  a  keener  eye, 

A  holier  love,  while  Thou  shalt  reign. 

Th'  impetuous  winds  sublimely  sweep 

Across  the  pathless  waste  of  Ocean  ; 

And  traverse  we  without  emotion 

Our  broader  sea,  our  shoreless  deep  ? 


THE  END   OF   TIME. 

0  't  is  a  vast,  unspoken  bliss 

To  struggle  up  with  strong  endeavor ; 
As  cycles  close,  to  feel  but  this — 
That  we  are  nearer  Thee  than  ever  ; 
To  mount  to  regions  all  untrod, 
Higher  and  higher  yet  to  press  ; 
And  then  with  veiled  face  confess, 
That  Thou  art  still  the  Unknown  God. 

RAPHAEL. 

1  saw  from,  out  a  boundless  sea 
A  fairy  island  rise, 

O'erspread  with  beauty's  mystery, 
O'erhung  with  loveliest  skies. 

It  rose  from  out  the  vasty  sea 
With  a  sweet  and  musical  sound 

Of  waters  rippling  cheerily, 
As  they  girdled  the  beach  around. 

Straightway  leaped  up  the  smiling  hills 
With  a  sudden  and  playful  bound, 

And  from  the  heights  the  gurgling  rills 
Came  forth  to  bless  the  ground  ; 

Came  forth  to  bless  the  valleys  green, 
And  the  forests  so  bravely  clad  ; 

God  looked  from  heaven  upon  the  scene, 
And  the  Maker's  heart  was  glad. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  3 

O  might  it  be  my  joy  again 

To  trace  the  flowery  glade, 
To  wander  up  the  leafy  glen, 

And  watch  the  bright  cascade  ; 

To  bend  o'er  cataracts  wild  and  hoary, 

Dashing  to  earth  in  spray, 
And  mountain  tops  in  solemn  glory, 

So  pure  and  so  still  alway  ; 

To  see  the  golden  light  of  even 

Stream  on  the  grassy  dell, 
And  think,  "  O  were  it  not  for  heaven, 

How  sweet  on  earth  to  dwell  ! ' ' 

MICHAEL. 

God  of  all  wisdom  and  power,  my  fortress,  my 

shield,  and  my  buckler, 
Cover  my  head  in  the  thick  of  the  fight,  in  the 

fore-front  of  battle. 
Swear  I  by  Thee,  O  Eternal,  that  art,  and  that 

wast,  and  that  shalt  be. 
Swear  only  Thou  by  Thy  life, — I  live,  I  live,  saith 

Jehovah. 
Forth  from  its  scabbard  my  good  sword  leaps, 

when  I  think  of  the  Dragon, 
Satan,  the  chief  of  Thy  foes,  the  maligner  of  God 

and  His  angels. 


4  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Down  in  his  sulphurous  bed,  he  stirred  up  the 

fires  of  Evil, 
Far  underneath  the  beautiful  isle,  the  isle  of  the 

blue  wave. 
Upward  the  flames  of  hell  came  bursting  through 

valley  and  mountain, — 
Bursting   and  rending  their  way,   and  heaping 

up  chaos  on  chaos, — 
Seething  the  founts,  and  the  limpid  streams,  and 

the  lakes  into  frenzy  ; 
So   that  the  waters  that   fondly    embraced   the 

island,  now  maddened, 
Rushed  on  the  shore,  as  if  to  engulf  it,  and  finish 

the  ruin  : 
While  as  the  winds  that  erst  had  breathed  o'er 

the  valleys  so  softly, — 
Fearing  to  wake  the  leaves,  and  the  flowerets  out 

of  their  slumber, — 
Shuddered,  and  shrilled,  and  shrieked  o'er  the 

deep-toned  roar  of  the  billows. 
Far  overhead  the  heavens  grew  black,  and  the 

Night  was  upon  us, — 
Night  on  the  beautiful  island,  Night  on  the  sor- 
rowing Angels. 

GABRIEL. 

lyord  of  all  grandeur  and  glory,  so  loving,  so  gra- 
cious, so  tender, 


THE  END    OF   TIME.  5 

Down  from  the  loftiest  height  of  Thy  heaven  there 

fell  on  the  island 
Light  of  Thy  light,  and  began   its  long,    long 

struggle  with  darkness ; 
Day-spring  that,  dim  at  the  first,  yet  ever  grew 

brighter  and  brighter. 
Stronger  and  stronger  it  grew,  till  it  drave  out 

the  horrible  blackness. 
Hushed  was  the  tempest's  roar,  and  stilled  was 

the  rage  of  the  ocean. 
Little  by  little  the  grass  came  forth  and  the  timid 

young  flowers. 
Little  by  little  the  forests  again  clothed  valleys 

and  hill-tops. 
Now,  though  the  beautiful  isle  could  nevermore 

be  what  it  had  been, — 
Fearfully  scarred  as  it  was,  and  torn  and  rent  into 

gorges,— 
Yet  by  Thy  wonderful  working  the  mountains 

rose  nearer  to  heaven  ; 
Deeper  the  depth  of  the  lakes,  and  sweeter  the 

founts  and  the  streamlets  ; 
Fairer  the  winsome  flowers  that  blushed  on  the 

dales  and  the  hill-sides, 
Hid  themselves  in  the  gorges,  and  peeped  from 

under  the  snow-drifts, 
Greeting  the  joy  of  the  sunlight,  and  bathed  in 

its  roseate  splendor. 


6  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Solemn  and  grand  was  the  voice  of  the  winds  as 

they  chanted  through  pine  groves, — 
Solemn  and  grand  in  its  strength,  but  plaintive 

and  sad  in  its  weakness, 
Moving  the  hearer  to  tears  by  its  piteous  wail, 

and  its  sighing, — 
Wail,  that  changed  to  rejoicing,  and  sighing  to 

jubilant  triumph. 
Such  was  the  beautiful  island  ;   we  wait  to  see 

what  it  shall  be. 


Why,  Almighty,  does  yonder  isle,  afar  on  the 

ocean 
Pour  out  fire  and  smoke  evermore  from  infernal 

abysses  ? 
Why  do  the  winds  yet  rave  ?  Why  do  the  billows 

still  thunder 
Curses   upon  the  blackening  shore,   aye,  curses 

forever  ? 
Day  is  thine,  and  the  Night  is  thine,  the  Light 

and  the  Darkness 
Both  of  them  publish  thy  praise,  and  both  of  them 

tell  of  thy  glory. 
Day  unto  Day   utters   speech,    and   Night  unto 

Night  showeth  knowledge  ; 
Day,  when  the  sun  goeth  forth  like  a  bridegroom 

out  of  his  chamber  ; 


THE  END  OF   TIME.  J 

Night  with  its  nebulous  heights,  and  its  fathom- 
less depths  so  appalling. 

Sweet  is  Thy  goodness,  O  Lord  our  God,  and  fear- 
ful Thy  justice ; 

God,  our  strength  and  our  song  ;  O  God  the  joy 
of  our  gladness. 

AU,    ANGEI£. 

Thou  art  our  strength  and  our  song,  and  Thou 
art  the  joy  of  our  gladness. 

souls  under  the;  ai/tar. 

How  long,  O  Lord,  how  long,  Thou  true  and  just, 
Thy  vengeance  lingers,  nor  fulfils  Thy  word  ! 
Thy  Martyrs'  blood  still  cries  from  out  the  dust, 
How  long,  O  Lord  ? 

Slaughtered  were  we  of  old  in  many  a  land, 
By  friends  betrayed,  by  enemies  abhorred  ; 
And  yet  thou  holdest  back  thy  vengeful  hand  : 
How  long,  O  Lord  ? 

Stoned,  sawn  asunder,  slain  by  fire  and  sword 
Or  thrown  to  lions  'mid  th'  arena's  throng, 
O  Christ  our  God,  by  highest  heaven  adored, 
How  long,  how  long  ? 


8  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Even  now  thy  children  faint  beneath  the  rod  ; 
Thy  help  in  vain  by  prayers  and  tears  implored, 
And  taunting  foemen  ask,  ' '  Where  is  your  God  ? ' ' 
Arise,  O  Lord ! 

CHRIST. 

The  end  hath  come  and  I  will  judge  the  world 
In  righteousness, — the  nations  by  My  truth. 

ANGELS. 

(In  a  great  outburst  of  joy.) 

Hallelujah  ! 
For  the  Lord  God  omnipotent  reigneth. 

THE   CHURCH   TRIUMPHANT. 

We  praise  thee,  we  bless  thee,  we  worship  thee, 
We  glorify  thee,  we  give  thanks  to  thee 
For  thy  great  glory. 

ANGELS. 

Thou  art  the  King  of  Glory,  O  Christ ; 
Thou  art  the  everlasting  Son  of  the  Father. 

CHURCH  TRIUMPHANT. 

Therefore  with  angels  and  archangels, 
And  with  all  the  company  of  heaven, 


THE  END   OF   TIME. 

We  laud  and  magnify  thy  glorious  name, 
Evermore  praising  thee  and  saying, 
Holy,  holy,  holy  Lord  God  of  hosts, 
Heaven  and  earth  are  full  of  thy  glory. 

Then  from  the  church  on  earth,  yet  militant, 
Rose  into  heaven  the  breathing  of  a  sigh  : 
"  Come,  I^ord  Jesus  ;  come  quickly." 


CANTO  I. 

Scene  :  Earth. 

I  looked,  and  lo  !  a  city  great  and  fair, 

With,  palaces  and  spires  and  vaulted  domes, 

Basked  in  the  sunlight  of  declining  day. 

It  lay  between  two  rivers.     On  the  west 

The  larger  rolled  its  placid  wave  due  south. 

From  the  northeast  the  smaller  held  its  course, 

Rapid  and  tortuous,  to  the  southern  point, 

Where  both  united  swelled  into  a  bay, 

Fit  harbor  for  the  navies  of  a  world. 

On  every  side  the  city  was  begirt 

With  walls  and  casemates,  towers  and  bastions 

huge, 
Strongest  along  the  northern,  landward  side, 
Yet  elsewhere  rearing  a  granitic  front 
Sheer  from  the  water's  edge, — the  outline  harsh 
Softened  and  varied  in  the  passing  streams, 
That  from  their  crystal  surface  gave  again 
All  that  o'erhung,  so  stern  and  gray  with  age. 
At  all  th'  embrasures  heavy  cannon  lowered  ; 
Upon  the  battlements  the  sentry  paced  ; 
And  waving  in  the  gentle  summer  breeze, 

10 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  II 

That  sighed  o'er  every  loftiest  turret  there, 
Banners  were  floating  forth  with  this  device — 
A  blazing  altar  and  a  bleeding  lamb  ; 
While  amid  all,  conspicuous  to  the  view, 
Shone  one  that  bore  the  image  of  a  cross 
In  gold  upon  a  snow-white  silken  ground, 
And  underneath  was  written,  God  is  I^ove. 
Why  was  it  that  a  silence  so  profound 
Rested  upon  this  city  ? — That  the  streets 
Of  the  vast  mart  re-echoed  not  the  sound 
Of  human  intercourse  or  industry  ? 
Not  thus  without,  where,  far  as  eye  could  reach, 
A  thousand  armed  legions  were  encamped, 
On  river-sides,  on  hills,  on  spreading  plains, 
Their  white  tents,  like  the  countless  fleecy  clouds 
Upon  the  vault  of  heaven,  encompassed  earth, — 
Only  in  martial  order  justly  set, 
Formed  into  squares,  these  bordering  on  streets, 
And  thus  the  whole  array  ;  with  plazas  broad 
Between  the  different  nations,  left  for  sports 
Of  manly  strength  or  warlike  exercise. 
Central  to  each  division,  high  in  air, 
Rustled  its  flag,  of  many-colored  hue, 
Ensign  armorial,  and  escutcheon  quaint, 
These  too  were  deftly  dight  with  cruel  forms, 
Bears,  vultures,  serpents,  dragons,  scorpions. 
Central  to  all  the  host  a  grand  marquee, 
Of  form  unusual,  wrought  with  curious  art, 
Dome-like  above,  whence  silken  curtains  green 


12  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

In  circular  dependence  hung  around, 
Festooned  with  golden  fringes.     Through  the  top 
Shot  up  a  shaft  that  bore  th'  imperial  flag 
Proudly  o'er  all  the  legions.     On  one  side 
A  tawny  lion  couched  upon  his  prey. 
Azure  the  other  where  an  eagle  showed 
On  outspread  pinions  mounting  tow'rd  the  sun. 
Throughout  the  vast  encampment  all  was  life, 
For  't  was  the  hour  of  martial  games  and  sports. 
Here  Asia's  sons  in  rich  and  flowing  garb, 
And  robes  of  brilliant  oriental  dyes, 
Turbaned  and  sandaled,  like  a  storm  swept  by, 
On  steeds  of  Araby  fleet  as  the  wind, — 
Rightly  careering,  poising  now  the  lance, 
Now  brandishing  their  crooked  scimitars. 
There  Europe's  hardier  infantry  advanced, 
Charged  bayonet,  retreated,  counter-marched, 
Beat  back  the  foe,  and  won  the  bloodless  field, 
In  all  the  act  and  pomp  of  mimic  war. 
Beyond,  were  crowds  of  Afric's  swarthy  race, 
In  not  unseemly,  barbarous  attire 
Of  curious  texture,  woven  dexterously, 
And  intertwined  with  threads  and  beads  of  gold. 
These  threw  the  reedy  spear,  or  twanged  the 

bow, — 
Ancestral  customs,  still  in  pastime  used. 
On  such  a  scene  the  sun  with  level  beams 
Shone  on  earth's  latest  day, — his  parting  rays 
Flashing  along  the  rows  of  carabines, 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 3 

Pikes,  lances,  bayoneted  stands  of  arms  ; 

On  trappings  rich  with  gold  and  burnished  steel, 

Tents  by  the  shore  and  frigates  in  the  bay. 

As  a  grieved  friend  departs  reluctantly, 

And  pauses  on  the  threshold  ere  he  goes, 

So  now  the  God  of  day  a  moment  hung 

On  the  horizon's  verge,  gave  one  last  look 

Of  sorrow  at  th'  embannered  king  of  beasts, 

And  king  of  birds  above  the  hostile  camp, 

Smiled  faintly  on  the  golden  cross  afar, 

And  bade  the  world  adieu,  and  shut  light's  pearly 

gates. 
Hark  !  from  ten  thousand  cannons'  brazen  throats 
Thunder  the  vespers  rude  of  stalwart  war, 
Not  like  the  mellow  tones  of  evening  bells, 
That  tell  of  hope  and  faith,  of  love  and  heaven, 
And  lingering,  softening  into  silence,  die. 
Scarce  were  the  echoes  laid,  when  music  rose 
From  cornets,  bugles,  cymbals,  trumpets,  drums, 
And  stole  o'er  river,  fortress,  field,  and  grove, 
Harmoniously  breathing  life  away. 
Departed  Day,  it  was  thy  requiem, 
loosing  itself  in  cloister-like  recess, 
Where  the  far  mountains  stretched  their  colon- 
nade, 
And  the  gray-hooded  hills  like  friars  stood  ; 
Or  evening  song  of  mother  to  her  child, 
Saying  to  the  wearied  earth,  "  Rest,  loved  one, 
rest." 


14  THE  END   OF    TIME. 

And  while  the  dulcet  notes  were  swelling  yet 
Toward  the  empyrean,  in  the  east 
The  full  moon  floated  up  from  out  the  sea, 
I4ke  some  fair  spirit  woke  by  music's  spell. 


CANTO  II. 

SCENE :   The  City. 

It  was  a  temple  of  the  living  God, 

Of  venerable  air  and  grand  design, 

Where  met  that  night  a  band  of  warlike  men, 

And  underneath  the  light  of  graceful  lamps 

And  chandeliers  wide-flaming,  bowed  in  prayer. 

The   gray -haired   Richmond's  voice    alone  was 

heard 
In  supplication  o'er  the  kneeling  throng. 
Prayer's  eloquence  was  there,  the  hush  of  awe, 
Love's  holy  warmth,  entreaty's  tenderness, 
From  the  deep,  sacred  fountains  of  the  heart. 
And  as  they  rose  from  lowliest  attitude, 
'T  was  with  the  countenance  and  look  of  men 
In  stern  extremity,  but  not  despair. 
Now  for  a  space  they  all  in  silence  sat, 
As  though  in  doubt  what  action  to  advise. 
Ashley  at  length, — of  mild,  engaging  mien, 
And  features  where  benignity  reposed, — 
Bespake  them  thus  : 

"  Fathers  and  Brethren  dear, 
Yet  most  beloved  in  danger's  darkest  hour, 

15 


1 6  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Ye  see  our  state, — beset  on  every  side, 
Environed  and  beleaguered  by  the  foe, 
Whose  squadrons  stretch  beyond  the  utmost 

sight 
Of  sentries  posted  on  our  highest  towers. 
Three  sorties  have  been  made  at  dead  of  night ; 
Three  desperate  attempts  to  pierce  the  ranks 
Of  our  dire  enemy, — all,  all  repulsed. 
Our  shipping  is  destroyed,  and — worst  of  all — 
Hollow-eyed  Famine  stares  us  in  the  face. 
It  was  but  yesterday  I  overheard 
A  little  child  beg  piteously  for  bread. 
I  saw  the  mother  with  a  burst  of  grief 
Clasp  the  sweet  sufferer  to  her  aching  heart. 
And  this  is  the  beginning  of  our  woe. 
The  end  I  hardly  dare  to  look  upon, 
Even  in  thought ;  the  dread  reality 
Who  of  us  can  behold  and  ask  to  live  ? 
Our  wives  and  children  wasting  day  by  day, 
And  perishing  with  hunger's  fearful  death  ! 
Sinking  with  torture  lingering  and  slow, 
And,  in  their  latest  moments,  thrusting  forth 
Their  long  and  bony  fingers  as  to  clutch 
Food,  which  unreached,  they  die  with  maniac 

scream, 
And  frenzied  stare  that  pleads  in  vain  for  help. 
'T  is  this  that  leads  me  to  the  advice  I  give, 
That  on  the  morrow  we  capitulate. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  \J 

As  for  myself  I  do  not  fear  to  die. 
Has  e'er  my  heart  in  hottest  combat  failed, 
Or  cheek  turned  pale  in  deadliest  assault  ? 
Yet  there  are  those  for  whom  all  hearts  must  feel. 
Shall  we  delay  ?  Then,  Famine,  do  thy  work  ; 
And  when  our  strength  is  gone,  perchance  the  foe, 
Gaining  an  easy  entrance  o'er  the  walls, 
Will  wreak  their  wrath,    long-hoarded,  on  our 

heads. 
Can  it  be  wise  in  us  t'  exasperate, 
Whom  we  can  neither  conquer  nor  resist  ? 
Whose  overwhelming  numbers  are  too  strong 
For  all  the  prowess  of  our  thinning  ranks  ? 
Now, — if  we  open  wide  the  city  gates, — 
May  it  not  be  that  woman's  feebleness, 
And  the  heart-moving  cries  of  tender  babes, 
Shall  claim  escape  from  them,  though  not  for  us  ? 
Who  knows  but  that  some  feature,  word,  or  tone 
Of  our  beloved  ones  may  serve  to  wake 
A  memory  in  the  bosoms  of  the  foe, 
Of  mother,  wife,  or  daughter  far  away  ? 
Or  tear,  or  winning  smile  on  childhood's  face, 
Whisper  to  them  that  they  too  have  a  home  ? 
Men  are  not  wholly  fiends  until  they  pass 
Away  from  earth  :  There  still  remain  some  sparks 
Of  natural  affection  in  their  breasts  ; 
A  little  light  of  love,  unquenched  as  yet, 
By  the  dark  stream  that  hurries  them  to  hell. 


1 8  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

I  offer  then  myself,  to  go  alone 

Or  with  two  others,  to  the  hostile  camp, 

And  bear  the  city  keys  at  risk  of  death. ' ' 

Scarce  had  he  ended  when  Dubois  sprang  up, — 

In  gesture,  bearing,  look,  a  soldier  all : 

' '  Not  such  is  my  advice.   If  in  a  word 

I  should  embody  all  I  feel,  't  would  be 

'  To  arms  ! '    Why  do  these  bloodhounds  seek  our 

lives  ? 
What  have  we  done  to  rouse  their  cruel  hate  ? 
Why  do  they  thus  pursue  us  unto  death  ? 
From  country  unto  country,  land  to  land, 
Till  now  at  last  within  one  city's  walls 
All  are  contained  that  fear  the  name  of  God. 
Do  they  not  know  that  ev'n  the  timid  deer 
That  pants  and  flies  before  the  yelping  pack 
While  it  may  hope  t'  escape,  will  turn  at  length 
And  desperately  charge  its  enemy  ? 
We  are  the  hunted  ;  we  too  are  at  bay  ; 
And  we  are  warned  not  to  exasperate 
These  demons  lest  they  slay  our  wives  and  babes! 
'  They  may  be  merciful.'     Hear  it,  ye  heavens  ! 
Yes,  when  the  wolf  has  mercy  on  the  lamb, 
That  unresisting  trembles  at  his  feet, 
Yes,  when  the  hawk  compassionates  the  dove, 
Or  tiger  weeps  above  a  dying  fawn. 
Spare  them  ?  It  may  be  ;  for  the  food  of  lust. 
But  no, — for  lust  hath  not  its  seat  so  deep 


THE  END  OF   TIME.  1 9 

In  human  hearts,  as  the  wild  thirst  for  blood. 
Sweet  is  the  face  of  childhood,  sweet  the  smile 
That  plays  on  features  all  unworn  by  care. 
But  to  these  miscreants  sweeter  were  the  shriek 
Of  frantic  mothers  when  they  saw  their  babes 
Torn  from  their  arms  and  brained  against  the 

wall. 
God  help  me  !    when  such  thoughts   as  these 

obtain 
Supremacy  within  me,  for  the  time 
I  sorely  fear  that  I  am  none  of  His. 
But  to  proceed.     The  enemy  surround 
Our  last  fond  refuge.     Wearied  now  with  arms, 
And  the  rude  shock  of  battle, — well  aware 
That  famine  soon  our  forces  must  consume, 
They  give  themselves  to  godless  merriment, 
To  games  by  day,  and  revelry  by  night : 
Such  the  report  now  brought  us  by  our  spies. 
Our  course  of  action  seems  to  me  most  clear, 
That  at  some  hour  between  the  noon  of  night 
And  break  of  day,  when  deepest  slumber  wraps 
The  world  in  wizard  mantle,  when  the  noise 
Of  latest  revellers  is  hushed  in  sleep, 
Then  we  shall  burst  in  terror  on  their  camp, 
With  the  loud  crash  of  musketry,  the  roar 
Of  cannon,  blare  of  trumpets,  and  the  shout 
Of  legions  pouring  o'er  the  gory  field. 
Perhaps  Jehovah,  God  of  Israel, 
May  send  a  panic  to  the  inmost  heart 


20  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Of  our  fierce  adversaries.     Sudden  fear 

May  seize  them.     In  the  terror  and  the  night, 

Each  individual  struggling  for  himself, 

They  may  put  one  another  to  the  sword. 

If  not,  let  us  at  least  like  soldiers  fall, 

Fall  sword  in  hand.     I^et  us  not  die  like  fools, 

Bound  hand  and  foot,  and  on  a  gallows  hanged. 

For  such  would  be  the  gentle  Ashley's  lot, 

And  mine  and  yours,  whoever  lead  the  host. 

Thinkest  thou,  Ashley,  that  thine  honored  name, 

Valor  in  field  and  wisdom  in  debate, 

Are  all  unknown  among  yon  motley  crew  ? 

For  thee,  for  us  the  halter  is  designed, 

If  once  we  fall  into  the  foemen's  hands. 

My  offer  is  to  follow  or  to  lead 

In  one  last,  bold  attack  upon  our  foes. 

To  conquer  or  to  perish,  be  our  aim  ; 

And  may  the  God  of  battles  aid  our  arms." 


He  said.     A  murmur  of  applause  was  heard. 
There  were,  whose  hands  were  laid  upon  their 

swords. 
But  now  the  aged  Richmond  slowly  rose  : 
1 '  Not  so,  my  brother,  doth  it  us  behoove 
To  carry  on  our  war,  and  so  forget 
The  words  of  counsel  by  our  Captain  given. 
Man's  wrath  works  not  the  righteousness  of  God. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  21 

Vengeance  is  His  alone  ;  He  will  repay. 
There  is  a  just  and  lawful  sense  of  wrong  ; 

|   An  indignation,  we  may  rightly  feel  ; 

J    But  let  us  keep  our  anger  in  due  bounds, 
Ivest  the  fair  breeze,  that  drives  the  gallant  ship 
Along  its  foamy  way,  become  a  storm, 
And   rend,   and    wreck,   and    then    engulf   our 

bark. 
We  are  exhorted  '  sword  in  hand  to  fall.' 
I  am  content  to  die,  as  God  appoints  ; 
And  yet  if  I  might  choose,  I  would  not  spend 
Life's  closing  hour  upon  a  battle-field. 
The  yells  of  fiendish  rage,  the  clash  of  arms, 
The  shouts  of  living,  groans  of  dying  men, 

'.    The  fire,  the  smoke,  the  blood,  would  ill  prelude 
The  peace  and  love  and  melody  of  heaven. 
No,  to  die  fitly  we  do  not  require 
Such  time  or  place,  such  scene  or  circumstance. 
Nay  more,  there  is  a  greatness  of  the  soul 

[That  doth  transcend  the  power  of  outward 
things, 
And  is  sublime  amid  the  scoff  and  scorn 
And  execration  of  a  rabble  throng. 
So  died  the  sinless  One  ;  and  Oh,  had  we 
More  of  His  Spirit,  that  we  too  might  say 
'  Father,   forgive  !    they   know    not    what  they 

do.' 
Placed  as  we  are,  our  duty  manifest 
Is  to  defend  our  children,  wives,  and  selves. 


22  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

The  law  of  self-defence  is  plainly  writ 

Both  in  the  Scriptures  and  the  heart  of  man. 

From  all  that  we  have  seen,  we  cannot  hope 

That  our  inveterate  foe  will  spare.     No  cry 

For  mercy  ever  yet  has  reached  his  heart. 

A  night  attack  is,  then,  our  last  resource. 

But  let  us  wait  until  the  enemy 

Are  not  so  vigilant  as  seem  they  now  ; 

Till  they  are  lost  to  reason,  steeped  in  wine, 

O'erwhelmed  with  surfeiting  and  drunkenness. 

Then  with  a  desperate  valor  let  us  hurl 

Our  shot  and  shell  upon  them,  hot  and  fast. 

Meanwhile,  what  may  not  Heaven  do  for  us  ? 

A  strong  persuasion  grows  upon  my  mind, 

That  we  behold  the  latest  days  of  earth. 

The  end  draws  nigh,  by  prophets  long  foretold. 

Of  all  the  prophecies  of  Holy  Writ, 

Recorded  for  the  Church's  faith  and  hope, 

None  else  remain  unravelled,  unfulfilled, 

Save  what  respect  the  grand  catastrophe. 

The  great  red  Dragon,  stinging  scorpions, 

Iyion-mouthed  Leopard  rising  from  the  sea, 

Monstrous  with  many  heads  and  many  horns  ; 

Woman,  in  royal  purple  well  attired, 

And  decked  with  gold  and  pearls  and  precious 

stones  ; 
Angels  with  sounding  trumpets  ;  falling  stars ; 
Whatever  type  or  shadow  was  portrayed 
By  those  old  Masters  on  the  sacred  page,— 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  23 

All,   all   have    found    their  substance  and  their 

truth 
In  wars,  convulsions,  potentates,  and  powers. 
Nations  are  born  and  die.     The  word  of  God 
Liveth  for  aye, — abideth  evermore. 
Only  one  mystery  is  unresolved, 
The  final  coming  of  the  Son  of  Man. 
Behold  He  comes  in  clouds,  and  every  eye 
Shall  see  Him,  and  all  kindreds  of  the  earth 
Shall  wail  when  they  behold  Him  in  the  sky. 
Welcome  the  darkness  that  enshrouds  our  state 
In  deepening  gloom.     But  few  more  hours  shall 

be 
Struck  on  Time's  sounding  bell  before  we  hear 
The    Midnight    Cry,    '  Behold,   the  Bridegroom 

comes  ! ' 
What  if  this  very  night  that  cry  were  made  ? 
What  if  the  King  of  Glory  from  His  throne 
Should  with  the  heavenly  train  so  soon  appear  ? ' ' 


Scarce  was  this  said,  when  lo  !  a  sudden  light, 
Brighter  than  noonday's  sun,  shone  overhead  ; 
And  on  their  snowy  pinions  poised  aloft, 
A  band  of  angels  sang  : 

"Ye  sons  of  men, 
Shout,  leap  for  joy,  for  your  redemption  's  nigh. 
Before  to-morrow's  dawn  shall  ye  behold 
The  Prince  of  Glory  in  the  clouds  of  heaven. ' ' 


24  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

ITHURIEI,. 

Forth  from  the  regions  where  day  never  dieth, 
Forth  from  the  verdure  that  knows  not  decay, 

Swifter  than  arrow  unseen  as  it  fiieth, 

Swifter  than  light  have  we  sped  on  our  way. 

Forth  from  the  radiance  first-born  and  elysian, 
Through  the  star-spaces  we  've  held  on  our 
flight, 

Now  in  the  splendors  that  dazzled  our  vision, 
Now  in  the  gloom  and  the  terror  of  night. 

ANGELS. 

Yet  Thou  art  with  us  wherever  we  rove, 
God  of  all  wisdom,  all  power,  all  love. 

ITHURIEX. 

Not  unto  shepherds  their  night  watches  keeping, 
Come  we  to  chant  o'er  Judea's  dark  plain  ; 

Not  with  the  tidings  of  babe  sadly  weeping, 
Or  tenderly  soothed  to  his  slumbers  again. 

But  of  the  pomp  of  a  Warrior  victorious, 

Leading  invincible  armies,  we  tell, 
Saving  the  lowly  with  grace  ever  glorious, 

Grinding  to  powder  the  forces  of  hell. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  25 

ANGELS. 

Thus  it  becomes  Thee  in  grandeur  to  move, 
God  of  all  vengeance,  all  terror,  all  love. 

ITHURIEL. 

Bright  on  His  head  shines  the  crown  of  dominion, 
Sparkles  His  sceptre,  and  flashes  His  sword  ; 

Mighty  archangels  with  wide-spreading  pinion 
Marshal  their  forces,  and  wait  on  His  word. 

From  trump  and  falchion  lightnings  are  glancing ; 

'Round  helm  and  banner  the  red  fires  play, 
While  at  the  summons  the  squadrons  advancing 

Form  into  order  of  battle  array. 

ANGELS. 

God  of  all  majesty,  mercy,  and  power, 
Strengthen  man's  heart  in  this  terrible  hour. 

This  said,  they  straightway  vanished   from  the 

place, 

Leaving  the  men  bewildered  and  in  fear, 
But  Richmond  presently  stood  forth,  and  thus 
Addressed  them  : 

"  Not  so  soon,  beloved  ones, 
Thought  I  the  end  would  come.      This  very 

night  J 


26  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Ah  !  who  that  awful  presence  can  abide  ? 
Who  dauntless  stand  before  the  judgment  seat  ? 
Searcher  of  hearts,  O  prove  and  try  our  thoughts, 
Ere  yet  th'  alarum  ring  its  pealing  notes, 
And  now  let  each  to  his  own  dwelling  go, 
And  every  soul  prepare  to  meet  his  God." 

Softly  and  slowly,  one  by  one  they  went. 
The  lights  all  died  away,  till  fretted  vault, 
Column,  and  arch  were  wrapped  in  dusky  folds. 
Nought  could  be  seen,  except  th'  unsteady  gleam 
Of  straggling  moonbeams  dimly  peering  through 
The  tall  and  traceried  windows'  rich-dyed  glass, 
Falling  on  pillar,  aisle,  and  sombre  wall, 
In  varied  tints  and  strange,  fantastic  forms. 
Nought  could  be  heard  but  the  clock's  measured 

tick 
Counting  the  moments,  while  Eternity — 
As  some  magician  old,  gray-bearded,  grim, 
Bending  o'er  couch  of  infant  young  and  fair — 
Held  finger  on  the  dying  pulse  of  Time. 

Richmond  approached  his  home.     A  pleasant 

spot : 
The  modest  mansion,  the  embowering  trees 
Waving  their  branches  in  the  nightly  air, 
And  weaving  shadows    on    the    smooth  green 

sward  ; 
The  vine- wreathed  trellis, — all  a  picture  made, 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  27 

That  memory  might,  ah  !  shall  forever  hold. 
He  paused  an  instant  at  the  gate  to  take 
One  last  look  at  the  dear  old  place,  his  home, 
Scene  of  his  tranquil  joys  and  sorrows  blest. 
A  rising  tear  bedimmed  his  aged  eyes, 
When  on  his  ear  a  sweet  voice  softly  stole. 

Not  upon  the  mountains  only, 

Nor  on  castle  turrets  high 
Streams  the  precious  light  of  heaven 

Through  the  portals  of  the  sky. 

But  on  lowly  vales  sequestered 
Where  the  brook  flows  noiselessly, 

And  on  cottages  half-hidden 
Underneath  the  linden  tree. 

Not  to  lofty  heroes  only, 

Sages  learned,  men  of  might, 
Monarchs  robed  in  gold  and  purple, 

Comes  the  true,  the  heavenly  light. 

There  are  hearts  that  long  and  meekly 
Suffer,  to  the  world  unknown  ; 

Humble  ones,  the  God  of  glory 
Stoops  to  claim  you  for  His  own. 

When  the  sun  is  clothed  in  sackcloth, 
When  yon  moon  to  blood  doth  turn, 


28  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

When  in  final  conflagration 

All  this  spacious  globe  shall  burn  ; 

When  above  th'  august  tribunal 
Quick  and  dead  Thy  face  shall  see, 

Can  a  feeble,  trembling  maiden 
Hope  to  be  confessed  by  Thee  ? 

Yes,  for  once  Thy  head  reclining 

On  a  mother's  bosom  lay, 
And  the  tender  lips  of  woman 

Kissed  Thine  infant  tears  away. 

Beamed  upon  Thee  in  Thy  cradle 
Mary's  eyes  with  lustre  mild  ; 

'T  was  her  voice  in  gentle  accents 
Whispered  :  ' '  Sweetly  rest,  my  child  ! ' ' 

Not  the  highest  heaven's  glory 

Can  that  memory  remove  ; 
On  Thy  cheek  those  kisses  linger, 

In  Thy  heart  that  mother's  love. 


She  ceased,  and  Richmond  entered  hurriedly. 
Hearing  his  hasty  step,  Evangeline 
Came  forth  and  met  her  father  in  the  hall. 
The  aged  man  fell  on  her  neck  and  wept. 
"My  daughter,  O  my  daughter  ! ' '  thus  he  spoke, 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  29 

When  he  found  utterance.    ' '  How  soon  must  this 
Thy  precious  faith,  as  gold,  be  tried  by  fire  ? 
How  soon  shall  we  and  all  His  followers  be 
In  the  celestial  mansions  with  our  Lord  ? 
Thy  mother  too  — ' '     But  here  the  tears  afresh 
Ran  down  the  time-worn  furrows  of  his  face  ; — 
"  Long  lost,  beloved  wife,  but  now  restored, 
No  more  to  weep,  no  more  to  faint  and  die. ' ' 
"  How  ?  what  ?  my  father,"  said  Evangeline  ; 
"  Whence  this  unwonted  tumult  in  thy  breast  ? 
My  mother  ?     Now  restored  ? ' ' 

Her  father  then  : 
"  Evangeline,  a  band  of  angels  came 
This  night,  and  to  our  wondering  ears  announced 
The  coming  of  the  Son  of  God  from  heaven." 
She  fell  upon  her  knees.     "Aye,  watch  and  pray, 
If  ever  thou  wouldst  watch  and  pray  on  earth. ' ' 
He  said  no  more,  but  left  her  kneeling  there, 
With  her  meek  eyes  devoutly  raised  to  heaven. 


It  is  a  quiet  chamber.     Here  is  stored 
In  long  and  comely  rows  the  lore  of  time. 
Learning  hath  often  lit  her  early  lamp 
Within  these  walls,  where  spoils  of  other  days 
And  distant  climes  are  gathered  ;     knowledge 

high, 
And  eloquence  of  poetry  and  prose, 
And  modern  science  by  whose  regal  power 
Man  holds  supremacy  o'er  land  and  sea. 


30  THE  END   OF    TIME. 

The  page  of  History  unfolded  tells 
Of  vice  and  virtue,  emperors  and  kings, 
Empires  and    kingdoms,    states    and    common- 
wealths ; 
Of  wise  and  great,  profound  and  valiant  men, 
And  women  mighty  in  their  loveliness  ; 
Of  famines,  tumults,  pestilences,  wars, 
Whereby  the  leaves  are  blackened  and  begrimed, 
And  many  stuck  together  fast  with  blood  ; 
While  Sibyl  whispers  her  traditions  dire, 
Or,  laying  finger  on  her  lips,  is  dumb. 
But  chief  the  works  of  greatly  pious  men, 
The  consecrated  learning  of  the  good, 
Whose  very  names  are  watchwords  ;  holy  thought ; 
Manful  repulse  of  treacherous  assault 
On  God's  blest  word,  or  on  the  cross  of  Christ ; 
Copious  wisdom  fresh  from  heavenly  founts  ; 
And  over  all,  the  Book  inspired  of  God, 
The  highest  stepping-stone  by  which  to  reach 
The  Pure,  the  True,  the  Beautiful,  the  Good- 
One  rapid  glance  at  these  his  treasures  rich, 
Prized  above  gold  or  gems.     Forgive  a  sigh, 
That  all  must  perish  in  devouring  flames. 
"  Farewell !  companions  of  my  earthly  days," — 
So  thought  he  in  that  moment  passing  fleet  ; 
"Guides  of  my  youth,  friends  of  my  manhood's 

prime  ; 
Solace  in  sorrow's  hour  ;  in  weakness,  strength  ; 
Honor  and  ornament  of  prosperous  years. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  3 1 

But  ah  !     I  have  no  time  for  such  regrets. 
Farewell  !  0  Barth,  that  gavest  birth  to  me, — 
Earth,  where  the  Saviour  lived,  where  Jesus  died, 
And  where  He  lay,  as  I  had  hoped  to  lie, 
In  thy  fond  bosom  sheltered  from  the  blast. 
Farewell,  each  sacred,  each  familiar  spot, 
Scenes  of  my  toils  and  conflicts,  hopes  and  fears. 
Farewell,  ye  trees  and  flowers,  ye  hills  and  dales  ; 
Farewell,  day's  glory,  and  the  calm  of  night, 
And  all  that  to  my  being  links  itself 
In  ties  that  can  be  broken  nevermore." 


The  vine-leaves  quiver  in  the  nightly  breeze, 
Which,  passing  through  them,  fans  an  aged  brow ; 
And  tremblingly  the  moonbeams  enter  there. 
Draw  reverently  nigh, — a  good  man  prays. 

"  Ancient  of  days  !     Most  high,  most  holy  I^ord  ! 
Lonely  wayfarer  of  eternity  ! 
Of  old  Thou  walkedst  in  Thy  Godhood's  might 
Coming  from  out  the  gloom  unlimited, 
Unknown,  unfathomed  save  by  Thee  alone  ; 
Into  the  future  holding  now  Thy  way, 
That  long  eternity  which  I  shall  know  ; 
Spirit  unseen  whose  keenly  piercing  eye 
Scanneth  each  thought  of  every  human  heart, 
How  can  a  guilty  worm  before  Thee  stand  ; 
When  in  Thy  sight  the  heavens  are  unclean, 
And  in  Thy  presence  loftiest  cherubim 


32  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Cry  '  Holy,  Holy,  Holy  God  of  Hosts  ?  ' 
Can  I,  a  wretched  sinner,  dare  appear 
Before  Thy  bar  ?     Can  I  confront  that  gaze, 
Which  singles  me  from  out  the  countless  throng, 
And  says  '  O  why  hast  thou  against  Me  sinned  ?  ' 
What  could  I  do,  Thou  Judge  of  all  the  earth  ! 
Ah  !  whither  look,  or  whither  turn  to  flee  ! 
But  that  Thy  love  is  deeper  than  my  guilt, 
And  Thou  art  He  that  wept  and  bled  for  man. 
Grant  me,  O  Christ,  to  stand  so  near,  that  I 
May  see  the  face  that  once  was  wet  with  blood, 
And  mark  the  print  of  iron  spike  and  spear 
Still  visible  in  hands  and  feet  and  side. 
So  without  fear  may  I  approach  Thy  throne, 
And  claim  to  be  a  sinner  saved  by  grace. 

Thou  lovest  me  !     Who  could  this  truth  believe, 

Did  not  Thy  Spirit  witness  to  his  heart  ? 

Who  comprehend  the    length  and  breadth  and 

height, 
Until  the  light  from  heaven  had  dawned  thereon 
As  day  upon  th'  illimitable  sea. 
Yet  with  that  witness,  that  supernal  ray, 
I  can,  I  do  unfalteringly  repose 
On  Thy  sole  promise,  wondering  at  myself. 
Whence  is    this  peace  ?    for  I  could  not  have 

thought 
Such  calmness  possible  at  this  last  hour. 
For  why  do  not  the  darkness,  thunders,  fires, 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  33 

Tempests,  convulsions,  cries  and  groans  of  men, — 
All  which  I  presently  must  see  and  hear, — 
Now  daunt  my  soul  as  they  were  wont  to  do  ? 
How  canst  Thou,  Lord,   so    strengthen    feeble 

man 
To  stand  without  dismay  upon  the  verge 
Of  earth  that  slips  from  underneath  his  feet  ? 

O  God  of  matchless  power,  how  wise,  how  deep 
Thy  purposes  far-reaching  !     Who  hath  known 
Thy  will,  or  who  hath  been  Thy  counsellor  ? 
Or  who  can  tell  why  Thou  hast  chosen  man 
To  worship  in  the  temple  of  the  sky  ? 
Were  these  the  themes  whereon  Thy   Godhead 

mused, 
During  th'  eternal,  uncreative  past  ? 
When  thou  existedst  and  nought  else  beside, 
Nor  worshipper  was  found  in  all  of  space, 
Nor  Time  its  giddy  cycles  had  begun. 
Viewing  our  fallen  race,  didst  Thou  design 
A  mercy  such  as  none  but  God  could  show  ? 
Saviour  of  sinners,  did  Thy  pitying  heart 
Throb  with  that  love,  no  other  heart  could  feel  ? 
Before  Thy  vision  did  Thy  sorrow  rise, 
Thy  life  of  grief,  of  weariness,  of  pain, 
Thy  mortal  agony,  Thy  death  of  blood  ? ' ' 

He  said  thus  much,  and  rose  from  off  his  knees, 
To  pace  the  floor  in  meditation  rapt. 


34  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

' '  What  is  that  change,  O  wonder-working  God, 
That  soon  shall  pass  upon  my  mortal  frame  ? 
How    shall    this    weakness    be    exchanged    for 

strength, 
This  mortal  put  on  immortality  ? 
Shall  I  be  young  again  ?    And  shall  these  eyes, 
Now  dim  with  age,  renew  their  strength  and  fire  ? 
These  hoary  hairs  resume  their  youthful  hue, 
And  I  walk  forth  in  manhood's  early  prime  ? 

0  Iyife,  that  dwellest  in  the  Son  of  God, 
A  little  while  and  thou  too  shalt  be  mine. 

1  shall  be  like  Thee,  Thou  transfigured  Christ, — 
Be  strong  to  bear  the  glory  Thou  shalt  bring. 

Friends  of  my  childhood,  and  my  riper  years, 
Who  long  have  slumbered  in  the  silent  tomb, 
Hear  the  loud  clarion  and  awake  from  sleep  ! 
Awake  !  and  put  undying  vigor  on. 
Ye  that  have  known  corruption's  foulest  stains, 
Rise,  and  be  clad  with  beauty  and  with  grace. 
The  hour,  by  prophets  long  foretold,  is  here, 
And  He  shall  come,  the  Beautiful,  the  Strong. 

Can  it  be  true,  or  is  it  all  a  dream, 

That  I  shall  be  forever  with  the  Lord  ? 

O  God,  I  thank  Thee  !     L,et  these  tears  of  joy, 

And  inarticulate  sobs  express  to  Thee, 

That  which  lies  not  within  the  power  of  words. 

Forever  and  forever  !     Glorious  thought, 


THE  END  OF   TIME.  35 

That  I,  a  creature  but  of  yesterday, 
Numbering  life's  fleeting  moments  by  the  beat 
Of  pulse,  or  day  and  night's  succession  swift, 
Should  revel  in  the  view  of  endless  years, 
Draw  largely,  yet  diminish  not  the  store, 
Mount,  soar,  and  still  the  mighty  prospect  find 
Too  broad  for  human  or  angelic  eye, 
Thy  love  too  vast  for  creature  heart  to  hold. ' ' 

He  paused,  and,  going  to  his  cabinet, 

Took  out  a  relic  from  a  secret  drawer, 

A  paper  written  by  a  woman's  hand, — 

The  long-lost  mother  of  Evangeline  ; — 

Then  sat  him  down  and  read  the  Vesper  Hymn. 

"  While  the  shades  of  night  descending 
With  the  light  of  day  are  blending, 
To  the  love  that  knows  no  ending, 
Lord,  we  turn  ;  O  hear  our  humble  prayer. 

Byes  that  once  were  dim  with  weeping, 
Now  from  highest  heaven  keeping 
O'er  the  flock  a  watch  unsleeping, 
Rest,  O  rest  on  us  with  tender  care. 

To  Thy  will  our  spirits  molding, 
To  Thy  heart  Thy  loved  ones  folding, 
All  our  helplessness  beholding, 
Son  of  God,  O  hear  our  humble  prayer." 


36  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Evangeline  now  quietly  stole  in, 
And  knelt  beside  her  venerable  sire, 
Clasped  her  fair  palms  across  his  aged  knee, 
And  leaned  her  sweet  young  cheek  upon  her 

hands, 
Waiting  the  trumpet  that  should  wake  the  dead. 


CANTO  III. 

Scene  :   The  Camp. 

What  was  transacted  meanwhile  in  the  camp, 

Comes  next  in  order  to  relate.     The  sound 

Of  bugles,  cornets,  drums,  and  cymbals  ceased ; 

And  over  all  the  field  the  kindling  fires 

First  sent  up  clouds,  of  smoke,  then  burst  in 

flames 
Curling  and  blazing  'twixt  the  rustic  logs. 
The  ruddy,  cheerful  gleams  lit  up  each  group 
Surrounding,  who,  with  half-averted  face, 
Brought  meats  of  different  kinds  from  stall  and 

fold, 
From  copse  and  field  ;  some  borne  in  single  hand, 
Others  of  ponderous  weight, — whole  beasts  im- 
paled,— 
To  turn  and  roast  on  monstrous  iron  spits ; 
The  sturdy  foremen,  shouting  their  commands, 
All  red,  and  bustling  with  important  step. 
Round  the  hot  centres,  or  in  ranges  long, 
Ovens  were  baking  bread,  of  wheat  or  maize, 
Rye,  barley,  fruit  of  arto-carpus  tree  ; 
And  in  huge  pots  simmered  the  boiling  rice, 

37 


38  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

The  food  of  half  mankind.     In  the  hard  earth 
Holes  had  been  scooped,  and  tawny  men  thereat, 
From  the  far  islands  of  the  Southern  Sea, 
Primeval  usage  plied,  part  heating  stones 
To  put  in  them,  part  sorting  out  the  leaves 
To  line  the  sides  and  bottoms  of  the  pits, 
Wherein  swine,  fish,  or  fowl  should  be  bestowed. 
Before  the  tent  doors  or  from  wagon  trains 
The  commissaries  equal  rations  dealt 
To  clamoring  men  that  hurried  to  and  fro. 
Hard  by  the  fires,  barrels  of  water  dripped, 
Which  women's  hands  were  dipping  out  in  cups, 
And  bearing  thence,  filled  caldrons,  under  which 
Twigs  crackled  sharp,  or  smouldered  ashy  coals. 
Sergeants  along  the  outer  lines  relieved 
The  weary  guards,  and  sentinels  detailed  ; 
Each,  as  he  took  his  station,  marching  slow, 
With  sabre  broad  and  heavy  at  his  side, 
And  rifled  musket  with  fixed  bayonet. 
Superior  officers  strolled  arm  in  arm, 
Sauntering  by  twos  and  threes  along  their  way, 
Marked  by  their  dress  and  nameless  lofty  port ; 
Or  stood  conversing  with  that  courtesy 
Ever  habitual  to  men  of  arms. 
Now  evening's  meal  was  ended,  and  the  time 
For  mirthful  sports  and  revelries  came  on. 
The  mellow  notes  of  flutes  and  violins 
Inured  to  the  dance  ;  not  stately  minuets, 
But  fun  and  frolic  cheered  by  noisy  glee  ; 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  39 

And  woman's  voice  was  heard,  her    step  was 

seen 
Footing  it  nimbly  o'er  the  smooth-worn  ground. 
Here  in  the  light  fandango,  gay  and  free, 
To  sound  of  castanets  and  tambourines, 
Lover  and  lass  disported  pantomime. 
The  one  advanced  ;  the  other  fled,  then  stopped, 
And,  archly  looking  back,  besought  pursuit ; 
Darted  away  again,  eluded,  skimmed 
Birdlike  the  borders  of  th'  applauding  ring, 
And  featly  let  herself  be  caught  at  last, 
'Mid  smiles  and  cheers  and  gifts  of  showering 

coin. 
Beyond  in  graver  sort  sat  turbaned  men, 
On  mats  and  cushions  spread  upon  the  grass  ; 
In  circles  ranged,  with  oriental  pipes 
Of  amber  mouthpiece,  long  and  flexile  stem, 
And  self-supporting  bowl  of  curious  make, 
From  which  the  smoke  came  bubbling  up  through 

cups 
Filled  with  perfumes  from  Araby,  the  Blest, 
Rose  from  their  lips  and  fragrance  faint  dispensed 
Of  aromatic  gums,  in  a  blue  cloud 
That  seemed  by  moonlight  an  enchanter's  veil ; 
The  while  they  listened  to  some  tale  of  eld, 
Of  long-remembered  Haroun,  viziers,  ghouls, 
Sultans,  and  robbers,  hunch-backs,  genii,  dwarfs, 
Caverns  and  neverfailing  gems  and  gold. 
Next  these,  the  children  of  the  farther  East, — 


40  THE  END   OF    TIME. 


Lands  where  the   Ind  and   Ganges  pour  their 

floods, — 
Gathered  in  clusters  variously  engaged  ; 
To  one  of  which  thus  sang  a  dark-haired  girl, 
Playing  the  while  upon  a  silver  lute. 


Sons  of  India,  list,  while  I  tell  you  a  tale  of  the 

Triad. 
Vishnu  ages  agone  lay  sleeping  under  the  Ocean, 
Up  from  his  bosom  there  shot  a  stalk  that  was 

slender  and  graceful, 
And  at  the  top  of  the  stem  a  lotus  unfolded  its 

glory. 


II. 


Out  of  the  gorgeous  flower  sprang  Brahma  and 

stood  on  the  waters, 
Looking  to  North  and  to  South,  to  Kast  and  to 

West  o'er  the  broad  sea. 
No  one  appearing  in  sight  anywhere,  in  ecstasy 

Brahma 
Clapped  his  hands  and  shouted  for  joy,  "  Yes,  I 

am  the  First-born  ! ' ' 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  4 1 

III. 

"  First  of  all  to  exist,  and  maker  of  all  that  shall 
follow, — 

All  excepting  this  lotus.  But  hold  !  "  He  dived 
into  the  water, 

Glided  adown  the  stalk  of  the  flower,  as  swift  as 
the  whirlwind, 

Till  he  arrived  at  the  bottom,  and  found  the  slum- 
bering Vishnu. 

IV. 

"Who  art  thou,  knave?  And  what  dost  thou 
here?    Arouse  thee,  O  sleeper  !  " 

Vishnu  awoke,  and  proudly  exclaimed  he,  "I  am 
the  First-born." 

"  Iciest  thou,  knave,  in  thy  throat ;  for  I  was  be- 
fore thee, ' '  said  Brahma. 

Vishnu  leaped  to  his  feet.  Then  began  the  first 
of  all  battles. 

V. 

Long  time  wrestled  the  twain,  till  at  last  the 

divine  Maha  Deva 
Rushed  in  between  them  to  end  their  strife,  and 

thrust  them  asunder, 
Saying,  ' '  In  vain  is  your  contest,  for  I  myself  am 

the  First-born. 


42  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Natheless  will  I  resign  my  claim  to  him  who  shall 

mount  up 
Through  the  empyreal  heights,  and  the  crown  of 

my  head  shall  discover  ; 
Or  unto  him  who  shall  sound  the  abyss,  and  look 

on  my  sandals." 


VI. 


Brahma  then  flashed  aloft,  outstripping  the  flight 

of  an  eagle  ; 
Upward  and  upward  he  flew,  till  his  pinions  were 

weary  with  flying. 
Still  towered  up  far  above  him  the  head  of  the 

great  Maha  Deva, 
Then  he  bethought  him  of  guile,  and  created  the 

first  of  the  white  cows  ; 


VII. 


Brought  her  to  Deva,  and  said,   "  I  have  seen  it ; 

this  cow  is  my  witness. ' ' 
"  Liars  !  "  exclaimed  the  angry  Deva,  "  Yes,  both 

of  you  liars  ! 
Brahma,  to  thee  no  rites  be  performed,  no  sacrifice 

offered  ; 
Mouth  of  kine,  be  foul  evermore,  and  the  cause 

of  defilement." 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  43 

VIII. 

Then  rose  Vishnu,  and  said,  "I  saw  not  thy  feet, 

MahaDeva." 
"True  is  thy  word,"   quoth  Deva,    "and  thou 

Vishnu  art  the  First-born, 
First  of  the  Gods  !  unto  thee  shall  be  rendered  the 

loftiest  honors, 
Temples   be    built,   and    prayers    be    addressed 

through  all  generations." 


Elsewhere   stood   serpent-charmers   wrapped    in 

folds 
Of  venomous  reptiles,  which  the  looker-on 
Gazed  at  amazed,  and  held  his  breath  for  fear  ; 
Sagacious  dogs,  goats,  horses,  mountebanks, 
Jugglers  with  cards  and  mirrors,  balls  and  swords, 
In  open  field  or  tent,  as  seemed  them  best ; 
Saloons  where  liquors  in  decanters  shone  ; 
These  and  a  thousand  other  toys  and  sports 
Made  up  the  scene  of  vain  and  motley  life, 
While  ever  and  anon  o'er  all  arose 
Music  in  outburst  wild,  tumultuous, — 
In  melancholy  cadence  died  away. 


CANTO  IV. 

Seymoicr. 

There  were  who  relished  not  this  noisy  glee  ; 
Of  whom,  some  sauntered  'neath  the  spreading 

trees 
Along  the  river's  margin,  just  beyond 
The  range  of  cannon  from  the  city  walls  ; 
Some  rowed  in  skiffs  and  yawls  with  muffled  oars, 
That  nothing  might  disturb  the  heavenly  calm. 
But  chief  a  mimic  fleet  of  lengthened  train 
Floated  adown  the  stream.     Here  men  of  rank, 
Brilliant  with  decorations,  orders,  stars, 
And  women  fair  and  graceful,  dark  and  proud. 
Hark  !  from  the  foremost  boat  a  voice  is  heard, 
Accompanied  by  flutes  and  mandolins. 


Maid,  whose  eyes  with  liquid  beam 
Show  like  pearls  from  depth  of  stream, 
Look  but  thus  on  me  forever 
Gliding  down  this  placid  river, 
By  its  softly  wooded  shore  ; 
Grant  me  this, — I  ask  no  more. 

44 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  45 

II. 

Give  me  moonlight,  beauty's  daughter, 
On  this  wide  and  limpid  water ; 
]>t  the  melody  of  song 
Echo  far  and  linger  long, 
Mingling  with  the  plash  of  oar, 
Just  as  now  ;  I  ask  no  more. 

in. 

Bid  thy  ringlets  all  astray 
With  the  night-air  gently  play  ; 
Take  my  willing  hand  in  thine, 
Tell  me  that  thy  heart  is  mine  ; 
I  desire  no  greater  bliss, 
Ask  no  higher  heaven  than  this. 


Now  at  head-quarters  beat  the  loud  tattoo  ; 
Ten  thousand  drums  took  up  the  rapid  roll, 
East  Indian  tom-toms,  and  harsh  Chinese  gongs. 
At  once  the  lights  went  out  in  lesser  tents, 
And,  wearied  with  the  active  games  of  day, 
The  common  soldiers  to  their  cots  retired 
By  little  companies.     The  multitude 
Thinned  off ;  the  roar  of  constant  hubbub  hushed  ; 


46  THE  END   OF    TIME. 

And  only  here  and  there,  at  intervals, 

A  casual  shout  of  merriment  was  heard, 

Or  yell  of  drunken  men  that  homeward  reeled. 

But  dissipation  was  not  wholly  checked, 

For  at  this  hour  the  grand  marquee  began 

To  blaze  with  lights  from  newly  kindled  lamps 

Hung  in  a  circle  round  the  central  shaft. 

Beneath,  a  table,  set  in  manner  like, 

Held  long  and  slender  bottles  filled  with  wine, 

And  cups  of  gold  and  silver  richly  chased. 

Here  sat  the  highest  officers  by  land 

In  wassail  high  with  admirals  of  the  sea, 

And  wine  and  wit  in  rival  currents  flowed. 

Seymour  appeared  the  gayest  of  the  gay, 

Whose    deep-blue    eyes,    and    curling    chestnut 

hair 
Falling  upon  his  shoulders,  handsome  mouth, 
And  gallant  manners  won  him  woman's  love 
Where'er  he  went.     Crimson  his  uniform 
Turned  up  with  buff.     Before  him  was  a  cup 
Poised  on  a  column  claret-hued  and  bronzed. 
"  Ho  !  Seymour,"  cried  an  entering  admiral  ; 
"  Thou  'rt  here  betimes  to-night.     Was  't  thou  I 

heard 
An  hour  ago,  as  floating  down  the  wave 
A  sentimental  ditty  caught  my  ear  ?  " 
"To  a  chaste  maiden,  valorous  Van  Tromp  ?  " 
Seymour  replied  ;  ' '  Ah  !  my  dear  admiral, 
What  ditties  must  we  sing  to  such  fair  prudes  ! ' ' 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  47 

VAN  TROMP. 

I  knew  it  was  no  other  voice  than  thine. 
How  now,  my  friend,  what  new  toy  hast  thou 
there  ? 

SEYMOUR. 

Toy  ?    By  the  gods,  it  is  the  rarest  bowl 
That  ever  graced  our  board.      'T  is  Vinton's 
make. 

VAN  TROMP. 

Vinton's  ? 

SEYMOUR. 

Aye  ;  ' '  crazy  George ' '  they  call  him  now, 
Because  his  wits  are  addled — so  they  say. 
Who  knows  if  he  be  more  of  fool  or  knave  ? 
He  must  have  had  some  lucid  moments  when 
This  piece  was  wrought. 

VAN  TROMP. 

Is  't  wood  or  porcelain  ? 

SEYMOUR. 

Better  than  either,  sir.     It  is  a  skull, 

So  small,  translucent,  smooth  and  finely  grained, 


48  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Some  noble  damsel  must  have  owned  it  once, 
And  borne  it  loftily.     L,ook  at  this  train, 
Bacchus  returning  from  the  vintage,  crowned  ; 
His  chariot  draped  with  vines  and  drawn  by- 
girls. 
See  that  blue  sky  reflected  in  the  lake, 
Those  purple  grapes,  that  thyrsus  ivy- wreathed, 
And  girlhood's  delicately  carmined  cheek. 
The  god  of  wine, — how  exquisite  his  leer, 
His  sidelong  glance,  and  half-shut  sleepy  eyes  ; 
While  from  the  goblet,  reeling  in  his  hand, 
Gushes  the  crimson  juice.     We  almost  hear 
The  creaking  wheels,  the  peasant's  vintage  song, 
And  feel  the  warm  rays  of  the  setting  sun. 

To  whom,  Van  Tromp  :     "In  truth,  it  is  a  gem. 

That  Vinton  is  a  genius  in  his  way. ' ' 

"  The  best  part  is  unseen,"  Seymour  replied, 

' '  Except  by  those  who  from  the  vessel  drink. 

The  inside — you  may  see  thus  much — is  lined 

With  porcelain,  on  which  the  brush  has  put 

A  form  of  beauty,  earth  but  seldom  sees. 

O  raven  hair  !  O  eyes  of  utter  Night  ! 

Of  blackest  Night,  that  answers  back  to  Night ; 

Cheeks  that  out-vie  the  tints  of  snowy  heights 

Blushing  beneath  the  kisses  of  the  sun. 

O  figure  robed  in  laces  soft  and  white, 

No  vestal  virgin  ever  showed  more  fair  ! 

That  background  see,  of  pale  and  tender  green 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  49 

Deep'ning  to  olive.     From  her  dainty  feet, 

Shadows  of  dusky  red  that  die  in  browns, 

Give  but  an  air  of  substance  to  what  else 

Might  seem  the  misty  pageant  of  a  dream, 

Ye  gods,  if  I  were  Jupiter  himself, 

I  'd  part  with  high  Olympus,  thunders,  throne, 

Nectar  and  all,  for  such  a  maid  as  this. 

Now  mark  !  whoever  deepest  drains  the  bowl, 

Is  blest  with  fullest  view  of  beauty's  queen. 

Spirit,  whate'er  thou  art,  that  mak'st  thy  home 

In  sky,  in  earth,  in  sea,  in  lovely  woman, — 

The  Priestess  of  thine  oracle  is  Wine. 

The  Paphian  Venus  rose  from  out  the  foam, 

That  surged  in  creamy  breakers  on  the  isle  ; 

But  this,  more  sweet,  more  charming,  rises  up 

Out  of  the  sparkling  waves  of  ruby  wine. 

Comrades,  if  I  in  battle  hap  to  fall, 

I  charge  you  put  my  skull  in  Vinton's  hands." 

"  One  question, ' '  said  Van  Tromp,  ' '  may  I  inquire 

Whose  skull  it  was,  if  thou  perchance  dost  know. ' ' 

Seymour  looked  down  ;  a  faint  blush  overspread 

His  youthful  countenance  ;  but  rallying 

He  said  :  ' '  Why  dost  thou  ask,  my  good  Van 

Tromp  ? 
Ah  me  !  what  wicked  tales  are  told  on  one. 
Sad,  sad  !  I  own  I  've  been  a  naughty  youth. 
Hast  heard  the  story  of  '  The  Broken  Heart '  ? 
What,  no  ?  well  't  is  too  long  to  tell  just  now  ; — 
All  about  love  and  folly,  sin  and  woe. 


50  THE  END   OF    TIME. 

Faith,  what  a  mighty  sermon  I  could  preach 
Upon  that  text  !     A  dagger  at  the  last 
Let  out  the  blood  o'ercharged  upon  her  heart. 
Heav'n    knows   I   sorrowed  o'er  that  graceless 

thrust ; 
But  what  was  to  be  done  ?     I  did  the  best 
Within  my  power  and  wit.     The  body  lies 
Embalmed  in  costliest  style  by  latest  art. 
The  head  alone  has  cost  me  three  months'  pay, 
And  here  it  is  before  you.     I  desired 
To  keep  some  relic  to  assuage  my  grief. 
And  then  the  dagger, — that  too  I  retain. 
Its  jewelled  handle,  long  and  piercing  blade, 
May  serve  me  yet  if  I  grow  tired  of  life. 
To  say  the  truth,  she  was  a  charming  girl, 
And  if  there  were  a  God,  I  'd  on  my  knees 
To  crave  forgiveness.     Smile  not,  for  I  would. 
But  who  comes  now  ?     Welcome,  thou  great  Bel- 
mont, 
Wisest  in  council,  bravest  in  the  field  ; 
And  thou,  my  Walton,  second  in  command. 
We  had  begun  to  think  thou  wert  as  mad 
As  Vinton,  only  in  a  quiet  way. 
It  seems  an  age  since  thou  hast  deigned  to  join 
In  harmless  merry-making,  feast,  or  rout 
Now  that  thou  'st  left  'the  doldrums,'  as  Van 

Tromp 
Would  naughtily,  yet  nautically  say, 
Pray  tell  us  why  thy  face  has  been  so  long, 
Thy  gait  so  moping,  and  thy  tongue  so  still  ?  " 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  5 1 

To  whom  then  Walton  :  ' '  Seymour,  it  is  true, 
I  have  appeared  unhappy,  have  been  sad  ; 
Intolerable  weight  of  anguish  has 
Oppressed  my  mind  ;  but  now  all  that  is  gone. ' ' 

SEYMOUR. 

Well   said,    my  Walton  !      Welcome  thrice,   to- 
night. 

WAI/TON. 

Seymour,  I  thought  it  best  to  come  once  more, 
Though    prudence    might   have    urged  another 
course. 

SEYMOUR. 

Only    once    more  ?       Not    once  !     A  thousand 
times. 

"  No,"  Walton  said  ;  "  I  never  can  return." 

SEYMOUR. 

Why,  that  's  a  dark  enigma  !     Thou  hast  been 
One  of  our  boldest,  gayest,  brightest  souls. 
But  more  of  this  to-morrow  ;  for,  to-night, 
I  have  a  vow  upon  my  conscience  laid, 
A  solemn  duty,  brethren,  to  perform  ; 
Namely,  to  christen  this  good  head  within, 
Which  outwardly  has  never  known  the  rite  : 


52  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Christen  it  not  with  water,  but  with  wine. 
{He  Jills  the  skull  from  a  flagon?) 
Here,  pass  the  goblets,  fill  to  th'  very  brim, 
And  let  me  do  the  honors  with  a  toast : 
"  Perdition  to  the  Christians." 

All  obeyed, 
And  willingly  the  sparkled  bumpers  tossed, 
Save  Walton,  who  with  aspect  sorrowful 
And  folded  arms,  in  moody  silence  sat. 
Seymour  was  touched  ;  the  color  mounted  high 
On    cheek    and    forehead,    but  he  checked  his 
wrath. 
"Cheer  up,   good  Walton,  thou  art  not  thy- 
self, 
Nor  hast  been,  since  we  bore  the  flag  of  truce 
Into  the  city  and  their  chieftains  saw. 
Of  all  their  leaders  there  is  none  to  fear 
So  much  as  Richmond.     He  shall  surely  die 
If  ever  he  but  fall  into  our  hands. 
But  then  his  daughter  whom  I  had  designed 
All  for  mine  own, — Evangeline,  her  name, — 
A  fair-haired,  blue-eyed,  finely  modelled  sylph. 
Come,  Walton,  brighten  up,  she  shall  be  thine, 
If  that  some  brutal  soldier  slay  her  not. 
I  will  surpass  the  leader  of  the  Greeks, 
And  yield  Achilles  his  Briseis  dear. 
I  fear  she  may  be  found  a  little  wan, 
Unless  this  siege  be  shortened  in  some  way." 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  53 

At  this  rude  onset  Walton's  face  'gan  glow 
With  crimson,  and  a  soldier's  fire  lit  up 
His  down-cast  eyes,  but  he  spoke  not  a  word. 
Belmont,  observing  this,  to  Seymour  said, 
' '  Thou  shouldst  not  grieve  our  Walton  in  this 

style, 
Who  from  his  recent  melancholy  seems 
Somewhat  restored.  Pray,  choose  another  theme. 
Monteith,  what  news  of  public  interest 
Hast  heard  since  yesternight  ?  ' ' 

' '  Nothing  quite  new, ' ' 
Replied  the  chief  commander's  aid-de-camp. 
' '  I  hear  re-affirmations  from  the  guards 
Nearest  the  city.     Stoutly  they  maintain, 
That  in  the  deepest,  stillest  dead  of  night 
They  do  behold  upon  the  city  walls 
Walking,  in  state  gigantic,  warders  strange, 
Chiefly  what  time  the  sinking  moon  in  th'  west 
Casteth  her  baleful,  wizard  light  aslant. 
L,ast  night  one  bolder  than  the  rest  stole  near 
Under  the  cover  of  projecting  rocks, 
And  says  he  saw  what  made  his  blood  run  cold. 
Hence  all  the  soldiers  beg  to  be  released 
From  sentry  duty  there.     The  bravest  men 
Say  they  are  willing  to  face  flesh  and  blood 
But  know  not  how  these  spectres  to  engage, 
'  Gainst  whom  no  mortal  weapon  will  avail. ' ' 
Whereat  Belmont :  ' '  Methought  the  ghostly 

reign 


54  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Of  anile  superstition  had  gone  by. 
Either  the  men  are  wearied  with  the  siege 
And  hence  their  picket  duty  wish  to  shirk  ; 
Or  else  their  drowsy  eyes  and  stupid  wits 
Fashion  them  giants,  gorgons,  monsters  grim. 
What  more,  Monteith  ?  ' ' 

"  They  say  that  sounds  are  heard, 
Stern  voices,    though  they  know  not  what    is 

said  ; 
Oft  threatening  in  tone  ;  sometimes  a  choir 
Chimes  forth  mid-air  like  bells  far  overhead. 
Moreover  blazing  meteors,  falling  stars 
Thick  thronging,  as   when  fig-trees    shed  their 

leaves, 
Startle  the  constellations  from  their  rounds. 
'T  is  very  curious,  we  must  admit." 
"  Damnable  superstition,"  said  Belmont. 
' '  My   good    Monteith,    go    with  the  guard  to- 
night, 
And  see  thyself  what  shadow  there  may  be, 
Or  plausible  appearance  thus  to  fright 
Our  soldiers  panic-stricken  so  of  late." 

Monteith  departed.     Silence  now  ensued. 
Then  Wilmot,  cavalry  leader  of  the  left : — 
' '  Methinks  ourselves  are  not  devoid  of  fear, 
That  we  do  sit  so  silent.     Where  's  the  harp  ? 
Ah !    Seymour,    here.     Tune    up    its  slackened 

wires, 
And  troll  us  something,  be  it  but  a  snatch 
Of  an  old  ballad." 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  55 

Seymour,  thus  addressed, 
Aided  by  Wilmot  brought  the  harp,  and  took 
Down  from  its  place  the  key,  and  stretched  the 

strings 
To  the  due  tension,  thrumming  gracefully, 
Then  sang : 

"  The  black  earth  drinks, 

The  water  sinks, 
The  trees  revive  again  ; 

The  torrents  leap 

Adown  the  steep, 
To  slake  the  thirsty  main. 

"  The  Sun,  too,  sups 

From  ocean  cups  ; 
The  moon  imbibes  her  light 

With  a  pretty  grace 

From  his  jolly,  red  face 
No  wonder  she  shines  so  bright. 

' '  Then  blame  not  me, 

If  blithe  and  free 
I  drink  as  long  as ' ' 


He  ceased,  and  said,  "Walton,  a  pest  on  thee  ! 

With  thy  long  face  thou  hast  destroyed  our  sport. 

Anacreon  palls  to-night.     L,et  me  recall 

A  sober  song,  I  wrote  but  yesterday. 

'T  is  rather  dull,  and  all,  who  feel  inclined, 

May  go  to  sleep  before  they  hear  me  through. ' ' 


$6  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

I. 

The  sun  with  brightness  all  undimmed 
Still  bounds  from  sea  to  sky  ; 

The  moon  yet  holds  with  queenly  sway 
Martial  review  on  high. 


ii. 


And  to  the  ancient  harmonies, 
In  grandeur  and  in  joy, 

Unwearied  still  the  veteran  stars 
With  stately  tread  deploy. 

in. 

The  serried  columns  of  the  right 

About  Polaris  wheel ; 
Orion  leads  the  central  mass 

With  blade  of  burnished  steel. 


rv. 

Leftward  Magellan  and  the  Cross 
Their  banners  broad  display ; 

Goodly  as  in  the  olden  time 
This  orderly  array. 


THE  END   OF    TIME.  $y 

V. 

Spring  comes  with  tender  grass  and  flowers ; 

Summer,  in  vine-wreathed  zone  ; 
Autumn,  with  fruits  and  golden  grain, 

And  Winter, — drear  and  lone. 


VI. 


Through  the  dim  aisles  of  ancient  woods 
With  their  drooping-pennon  treasures, 

The  choral  voices  of  the  Winds 
Chant  slow  cathedral  measures. 

VII. 

They  rise  to  bliss,  and  echoing  clear 

Chapel  and  nave  resound  ; 
They  sink  to  woe,  and  faintly  breathe 

A  sweet  yet  plaintive  sound. 

VIII. 

Still  through  the  caverns  dark  and  dread, 

Still  on  the  rocky  shore, 
Ocean  in  changeless  majesty 

Rolls  with  unceasing  roar. 


58  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

IX. 

Peal  yet  his  thunders,  which  of  old 
Man's  inmost  heart  have  stirred, 

Augustly  beautiful,  as  when 
The  first  rapt  listener  heard. 


x. 


What  has  been  is.     What  is,  shall  be. 

In  sky,  on  earth,  in  deep, 
All  things  continue  as  they  were 

Since  the  fathers  fell  asleep. 


XI. 


Asleep  forever  !     O'er  their  graves 
To-night  the  sad  winds  sigh  ; 

To-morrow  all  this  festive  throng 
As  low,  as  still  may  lie. 

XII. 

The  wildest  tempest  soon  is  hushed, 
And  calmed  the  stormiest  sea  ; 

But  we  shall  know  a  longer  rest, — 
A  deeper  silence,  we. 


THE  END   OF    TIME.  59 

XIII. 

Then  round  we  '11  roll  the  merry  bowl, 
And  we  '11  give  dull  Care  the  slip, 

While  the  good  red  wine  is  in  the  vine, 
The  smile  on  woman's  lip. 


CANTO  V. 
Walton. 

The  rest,  save  Walton,  all  applauded.  He 
Was  silent  as  before.  To  whom  Belmont : 
"  Why,  Walton,  sitting  at  our  festal  board, 
Dost  thou  withhold  the  tribute  of  thy  praise  ?  ' ' 

Walton  replied  :  ' '  Belmont,  I  frankly  own 
My  want  of  sympathy  with  what  was  sung  ; 
And  more,  I  hope  to  meet  a  better  fate 
Than  to  lie  down  and  perish  with  the  brutes. 
Hear  my  belief,  companions,  soldiers,  friends. 
There  is  a  God,  an  immortality, 
A  hell  of  hate,  a  heaven  of  love  and  joy." 

At  this,  astonishment  was  visible 
On  every  face,  and  they  who  nearest  sat 
Drew  back  from  Walton  as  in  fear  or  wrath. 
1 1  A  God  ?    A  God  ? ' '  re-echoed  on  all  sides. 
"  A  spy  !  "  said  one  ;  "  a  traitor  in  the  camp." 
"  No,  not  a  spy,"  rejoined  Belmont ;  "for  see, 
His  principles  he  openly  avows. 
What  frenzy,  Walton,  hath  o'ertaken  thee, 
That    thou    shouldst    utter    words    so   false  as 
these?" 

60 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  6 1 

To  whom  then  Walton  :  ' '  There  was  once  a  time 
When  in  my  heart  I  said,  '  There  is  no  God  '  ; 
No  God  to  mark  my  deeds,  or  punish  sin  ; 
No  bottomless  abyss  of  flaming  hell. 
So  I  gave  rein  to  lust, — wallowed  in  mire 
Of  scandalous  transgression,  vice  and  guilt. 
In  my  career  of  madness  I  went  forth 
To  hunt  the  wild  beasts  in  their  fastnesses, 
And  lay  all  night  upon  a  mountain's  top 
With  my  brave  comrades.     Kindling  first  a  fire 
To  girdle  us  with  flame,  we  fell  asleep, 
Wearied  with  toil.     It  chanced  that  I  awoke 
Before  the  rest,  ere  morning's  light  had  dawned, 
While  yet  the  stars  their  holy  watches  kept. 
I  knew  not  why  it  was,  but  in  that  hour 
They  seemed  to  look  upon  me  pityingly, 
From  their  eternal  dwelling-place  on  high. 
'  Poor  mortal  of  an  hour, '  methought  they  said, 
'  Tossed  to  and  fro  upon  a  sea  of  cares 
A  few  short  moments,  then  again  to  sink 
Into  the  dark,  cold  gulf  of  nothingness, 
While  we  in  everlasting  glory  reign.' 

I  slept  no  more.     A  shudder  seized  my  frame, 
And  quickly  climbing  up  a  neighboring  crag, 
That  eastward  beetled  o'er  the  plain  below, 
I  sat  and  gazed  around  in  blank  despair, 
And  madly  cursed  the  day  that  I  was  born, — 
Cursed  father,  mother,  nature,  destiny, 
Fate  or  whate'er  to  me  had  being  giv'n, 


62  THE  END   OF    TIME. 

To  mock  me  with  a  breath  or  two  of  life, 
The  while  within  my  inmost  bosom  burned 
Quenchless  desires  for  everlasting  life. 

0  let  me  live,  O  live,  forever  live, 

1  cried  in  deadly  bitterness  of  soul. 

No  answer  came.     The  oracles  were  dumb. 
Far,  far  below  I  heard  the  roar  of  pines, 
And  mountain  torrents  leaping  from  the  heights; 
And  loathed  the  winds  and  waters  that  should 

live, 
And  move,  and  have  their  being  age  on  age, 
After  myself  had  mouldered  into  dust. 
Anon  I  heard  a  jaguar's  hungry  howl 
Faint  in  the  distance,  and  I  cried  to  him, 
Thou  art  my  brother  ;  Fate  hath  made  it  thine 
To  prey  upon  the  lamb,  as  I  on  thee, 
And  then  like  me  to  perish  from  the  earth. 
I  thought,  why  live  in  such  uncertainty, 
Such  horrible  suspense,  when  one  brave  plunge 
Over  this  precipice  would  end  my  doubts, 
And,  if  my  faith  be  true,  forever  still 
This  aching  heart,  this  ceaseless  agony. 
God  only  kept  me  from  that  dreadful  crime. 
Again  I  looked  upon  the  heavenly  orbs. 
Could  chance,  blind  chance,  or  destiny,  or  nought, 
Devise,  construct  this  perfect  mechanism  ? 
Balance  suns,  comets,  planets,  satellites, 
To  sweep  so  grandly  through  immensity  ? 
Is  there  no  Author  to  so  great  a  work  ? 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  63 

Who  is  it  that  with  radiant  bars  of  light 

Bridges  the  gulfs  impassable  of  space, 

And    floods  with  splendor  all  th'    unmeasured 

voids ; 
So  that  innumerable  rays,  that  flash 
From  worlds  on  worlds,  are  passing  to  and  fro 
Without  confusion  ?  That  from  every  point 
Each  star  within  our  vision  shows  distinct  ? 
What  skilful  hand  has  linked  with  silver  wire 
Globe  unto  globe,  revolving  sphere  to  sphere, 
So  that  to  me,  who  on  this  little  orb 
Away,  away  am  bounding  through  the  deep, 
Should  come  these  messages  from  distant  realms, 
These  telegraphic  signals  of  the  sky  ? 
Who  launched  this  beam,  or  this  vibration  sent, 
Which  myriads  of  years  has  held  its  way 
With  unimagined  speed,  and  yet  but  now 
Reaches  my  sight?  Who  framed  the  human  eye 
With  more  than  human  art  ?  Who  made  the  mind 
To  read  th'  impression  on  the  retina  ? 
The  soul  to  see,  to  understand,  to  feel 
The  weight  of  glory  in  a  scene  like  this  ? 
While  thus  I  mused,  a  pearly  glow  of  light 
Spread  like  a  luminous  haze  o'er  th'  eastern  sky. 
The  ebon  background  of  the  nightly  heavens 
Softened  to  grey  ;  't  was  the  transition  state. 
Day  dawned,   yet    darkness   mingled  with   the 

light. 
But  presently  a  shaft  of  living  fire 


64  THE  END   OF    TIME. 

Shot  through  the  lofty  chambers  of  the  east ; 

Another,  and  another.     Morning's  wings  ! 

How  beautiful  their  downy  pink  and  gold  ! 

The  sun  arose  and  from  the  slumb'ring  world 

Iyifted  the  darkness,  as  a  mother  takes 

A  veil  from  off  a  sleeping  infant's  face  ; 

And  earth  awaking  oped  her  eyes  and  smiled. 

The  mists  came  rolling  up  the  mountain  slopes, 

Huge,  phantom-like,  till,  mounting  on  the  breeze, 

They  vanished  in  the  upper  blue  of  heaven. 

Now  all  was  clear  ;  the  snow-clad  peaks  appeared, 

Ranges  on  ranges,  far  as  eye  could  reach. 

A  band  of  worshippers  mid-heaven  they  stood, 

Choiring  their  matin  song,  '  Praise  ye  the  Lord.' 

Westward  afar  the  great  Pacific  lay. 

It  was  a  goodly  sight,  and  kneeling  down 

I  worshipped  Him  who  made  both  heaven   and 

earth. 
The  jaguar's  howl  was  heard  no  more,  but  still 
The  cataracts  leaped  exultant  in  their  joy, 
And  I  was  glad,  for  in  my  heart  arose 
Hope  of  a  being  that  should  never  end. 
Since  then,  in  all  my  years  of  wickedness, 
I  ever  have  believed  that  God  exists  ; 
And  I  have  guarded  this  belief  in  Him, 
Even  as  a  wanderer  in  some  labyrinth, 
IyOst  in  its  mazes,  guards  the  one  dim  light, 
On  which  his  only  hope  of  life  depends." 
He  paused.     Then  Seymour  first  the  silence 

broke. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  65 

" Believest  thou  in  God,  and  endless  life? 
Why  art  thou  here  to  war  'gainst  those  who  hold 
The  same  absurd  delusion  with  thine  own  ?  ' ' 
To  whom   then  Walton :    "I  have  done  foul 

wrong, 
Led  by  a  love  of  danger,  thirst  for  fame, 
And  all  in  war  that  fires  our  youthful  blood. 
Methought  the  Christians  were  misguided  fools, 
Of  whom  it  might  be  well  to  rid  the  world. 
For  't  is  one  thing  to  say  that  God  exists  ; 
Another  quite,  Jehovah  to  confess, 
Three  persons  in  one  God,  forever  one. 
Now  I  avow  that  I  believe  in  Christ." 
"Then  shalt  thou  die,"  cried  Seymour  with  the 

rest. 
They  drew  their  swords. 

"  Hold  !  hold  !  stay  !  "  said  Belmont. 
"  Not  thus,  not  thus  doth  reason  bid  us  act. 
I^et  Walton  tell  us  why  he  holds  this  view. 
It  may  be  nought  but  frenzy,  which,  methinks, 
Is  gaining  ground  in  this  good  camp  of  ours. 
If  so,  to  Bedlam  send  him.     Do  not  spill 
The  blood  of  a  poor,  raving  lunatic. 
Walton,  thou  mayest  answer  for  thyself." 

He  sighed,  and  thus  his  narrative  resumed  : 
"  It  is  a  matter  of  astonishment 
Unto  myself,  that  I  can  dare  to-night 
Uphold  the  cause  of  Christ,  the  crucified, 
Whose  very  name  is  odious  to  your  ears. 
But  to  begin.     With  long  inaction  tired, 


66  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

And  camp-life's  weariness  and  listlessness, 

Taking  no  pleasure  in  the  rabble  sports, 

That  suit  the  fancy  of  our  soldiery, 

And  willing  recreation  to  obtain 

From  any  other  source,  I  found  one  day 

A  time-worn  volume  in  a  neighb'ring  tent." 

Then,  from  his  bosom  drawing  forth  a  book, 

He  laid  it  on  the  table.     Seymour,  next, 

Taking  it  up  and  glancing  at  the  back, 

Said,  with  contemptuous  and  disdainful  smile, 

"  The  Holy  Bible  ! — antiquated  stuff, 

To  hold  enslaved  so  proud  a  mind  as  thine. 

Whence  came  this  volume?     Are  there  traitors 

here? 
Spies  from  the  city  lurking  in  our  camp  ? ' ' 
' '  Not  so, ' '  said  Walton  ;   "it was  left  behind 
By  some  unknown  one  on  that  famous  day, 
When  the  chief  captains  of  the  Christian  host 
Came  under  cover  of  a  flag  of  truce." 
Seymour  rejoined  :   "  Away  with  such  a  book." 
To  whom   Belmont  :    "  Revile  not,  thoughtless 

man, 
This  ancient  writing.     In  the  days  of  eld, 
When  genius  wrought  within  the  hearts  of  men 
Grandly  and  mightily,  as  yet  untaught 
To  know  its  own,  inherent,  inborn  powers, 
Whoever  noblest  were  in  word  or  deed 
Were  deemed  and  deemed  themselves  inspired  of 

God. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  6j 

And  this  was  true.     Those  wondrous  men  whose 

thoughts, 
Endowed  with  immortality,  still  live,— 
Perennial  fountains  in  an  arid  waste, 
Or  voices  coming  through  the  nightly  gloom, 
And  bidding  us  take  courage  in  the  fight, — 
Seers,  whose  sayings  dark  and  parables, 
Brimful  of  wisdom,  teach  each  coming  age, — 
Were  not  all  such  inspired, — divinely  moved  ? 
And  yet  it  was  not  by  a  God  afar, 
But  by  the  Godhood  in  them,  all  unknown, 
That  they  so  spake,  and  wrote,  and  ruled,  and  rule. 
I  care  not  where  the  words  of  power  are  found, 
In  Sanscrit  Shaster,  Bible,  or  Koran, 
Or  quaintly  and  mysteriously  carved 
On  tablet,  winged  bull,  or  obelisk  ; 
Nor  reck  what  sky  he  saw,  what  soil  he  trod, 
Whether  the  waters  of  Tiberias, 
Or  sacred  Nile,  or  Ganges  laved  his  feet, 
In  whom  the  Deity  so  largely  dwelt." 

Then   Seymour    said  :       ' '  These   are   strange 
words,  indeed, 
To  come  from  such  a  source.     Pray  tell  us  now, 
Why  thou  art  here,  if  such  be  thy  belief." 

Belmont  replied  :     "  I  do  not  own  thy  right 
To  question  thus  one  higher  in  command. 
But  natheless  I  will  fittingly  respond, 
Apart  from  all  in  war,  that  makes  appeal 
Unto  our  best  and  loftiest  faculties, 


68  THE  END   OF    TIME. 

The  opportunity  for  high  exploit, 

The  joy  of  battle,  and  the  pride  of  power, 

All  that  has  summoned  to  th'  ensanguined  field 

The  bravest,  greatest  men  of  every  age, — 

There  yet  remains  a  prime  and  chiefest  cause, 

Why  in  this  conflict  I  should  take  a  part. 

But  first  let  Walton  finish  his  account. ' ' 

Then  Walton  spake  again  with  serious  air  : 
' '  Many  long  years  had  passed  since  I  had  seen 
A  copy  of  this  book.     I  took  it  up 
Only  to  while  the  weary  hours  away. 
The  first  line  my  attention  riveted, 
'  In  the  beginning  God  created  Heaven 
And  Earth. '    Announcement  simple,  yet  sublime ; 
Well  fitted  to  commence  the  word  of  God, 
If  ever  He  has  spoken  unto  man. 
But  specially  this  verse  came  home  to  me, 
As  here  containing  in  so  brief  a  space 
The  answer  to  my  once  bewildering  doubts. 
Nor  mine  alone.     To  the  great  heart  of  man 
In  every  hour  of  peril,  need,  or  woe, 
An  affirmation  sober,  calm,  assured, 
That  in  this  universe  a  God  exists, 
Of  boundless  might,  sufficient  to  create 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars,  and  earth  whereon  we  stand, 
Is  more  than  welcome.     Such  a  word  is  sweet, 
And  unto  him  that  utters  it,  is  turned 
The  eye  of  hope;  outstretched,  the  trembling  hand. 
God  is  a  Person,  not  a  senseless  force  ; 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  69 

Has  understanding,  purpose,  choice,  and  will ; 

Ma3^  care  for  that  which  His  own  hands  have  made. 

The  world  is  not  His  body  ;  He,  its  soul, — 

As  some  have  dreamed  in  late  and  ancient  days  ; — 

For  He  existed  long  before  the  world, 

And  out  of  nought  created  heaven  and  earth. 

This  the  first  statement.     Next  in  order  came 

Description  of  the  void  and  formless  earth, 

Where  darkness,  silence,  and  confusion  reigned. 

All  this  our  latest  science  doth  confirm, 

As  highly  possible  at  many  times 

In  the  long  period  that  intervened 

Between  earth's  primitive  and  molten  state, 

And  the  formations  of  succeeding  years. 

Yet  earth  is  not  forsaken  ;  o'er  the  waste 

The  viewless  Spirit  of  the  Highest  broods, 

And  by  His  power  the  six  days'  work  is  done. 

The  world  is  fitted  up  for  man's  abode, 

As  a  fair  palace  for  a  monarch's  son. 

And  when  God  saw  the  softly  rolling  globe 

Display  in  turn  each  new,  each  beauteous  scene, 

Oceans,  and  islands  green,  and  continents, 

Gliding  from  starlit  night  to  sunny  day 

Upon  the  west,  or  eastward  sinking  slow 

Into  the  evening  shades  ;  when  He  beheld 

Man  in  the  loveliest  spot  of  all  the  earth, 

In  God's  own  holy,  happy  image  made, 

And  heard  from  beast  and  bird,  from  rock  and 

wave, 
5 


JO  THE  END   OF   TIME. 


One  universal  song  of  love  and  praise  ; 
He  bare  this  witness,  '  All  is  very  good.' 

'T  was  true  of  all,  but  chiefly  so  of  man, — 
Man,  as  he  plied  his  healthful  daily  toil, 
Sat  on  the  banks  of  paradisal  streams, 
Or  in  the  cool  of  evening  walked  with  God. 
Such  was  his  primal  state  ;  and  such,  methought, 
It  must  have  been.     Indeed,  no  otherwise 
Could  man  have  come  from  the  Creator's  hands. 
Hitherward,  also,  old  traditions  point ; 
Iyike  the  dim  recollections  of  a  prince 
Stolen  in  childhood  from  his  royal  home, 
Whose  faint  yet  glorious  reminiscences 
Tell  him  that  he  was  born  of  kingly  blood. 
What  else  the  garden  of  Hesperides 
Than  a  poetic  version  of  this  truth  ? 
And  whence  in  various  languages  remote 
Accounts  so  similar  of  our  first  state, 
If  not  derived  from  some  great  common  source  ? 
That  state  is  lost.     The  sacred  record  saith 
By  voluntary  disobedience. 
The  guilty  pair  were  driven  from  Paradise, 
And  cherubim  were  placed  as  sentinels, 
While  that  a  flaming  sword  turned  every  way, 
Forever  to  prevent  all  entrance  there. 
Why  may  not  this  be  true  ?   Thus  much  we  know, 
That  perfect  happiness  and  purity 
For  many  an  age  have  not  been  found  on  earth. 
Nor  have  they  taken  flight  without  a  cause. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  7 1 

Eden  is  lost.     Her  radiant  light  still  shines 
In  the  far  distance,  but  a  bridgeless  chasm 
Stretches  between  our  yearning  hearts  and  her. 
In  our  lone  wanderings  we  stop,  and  turn, 
And  thither  bend  a  long  and  wistful  gaze, 
And  feel,  as  far  and  farther  yet  we  roam, 
That  we  are  plunging  into  darker  night. 
Hers  was  the  Golden  Age.     All  ages  else 
Are  but  base  metal.     Manhood's  hope  and  faith, 
Honor  and  truth,  and  woman's  trust  and  love, 
With  all  the  winning  courtesies  of  life, 
Flower  from  seeds  thence  straying  on  the  wind. 
We  rear  our  palaces  ;  art,  genius,  gold 
Conspire  the  ancient  grandeur  to  restore. 
High  in  the  air  the  graceful  domes  arise, 
And  fountains  play,  and  verdure  smiles  around. 
Alas  !  in  vain  ;  a  random  thought  of  thee, — 
Eden,  thy  pleasant  paths,  thy  goodly  vales, 
Thy  noon  of  bliss,  thine  eventide  repose, — 
Steals  on  our  hearts  and  wearily  we  own, 
Thy  brightness  and  thy  glory  are  not  ours. 

But  ere  the  parents  of  the  race  were  driven 
From  their  first  home,   to  wander  through  the 

earth, 
God  said  to  him  who  tempted  them  to  sin, 
'  Serpent !  I  will  put  enmity  between 
Thee  and  the  woman,  and  between  thy  seed 
And  her  seed  :   it  shall  bruise  thy  head,  and  thou 
Shalt  bruise  his  heel.' 


72  THE  END   OF    TIME. 

Here  the  great  Leader  speaks, 

Captain  of  all  the  glorious  hosts  of  Heaven, 

Though  woman's  seed  to  be,  and  gives  the  world 

The  first  conception  of  the  coming  Christ. 

This  was  the  germ  of  what  should  never  die  ; 

A  word  that  lingered  an  eternity 

In  the  God-heart,  awaiting  utterance, 

But  now  is  spoken,  shall  be  hushed  no  more. 

Like  a  sweet  bell  at  midnight's  darksome  hour, 

So  faint,  so  far,  so  fraught  with  hope  and  cheer. 
The  noblest  work  of  God  is  here  announced 

In  language  brief,  and  yet  of  meaning  full. 

It  was  a  promise  that  should  be  fulfilled 

After  the  lapse  of  forty  centuries. 

Four    thousand    years    should    pass  before  the 
flower 

In  royal  beauty  on  our  earth  should  bloom. 

The  grand  idea  of  the  Saviour-King 

Little  by  little  unto  men  was  given, 

Each  prophet  breathed  a  thought  unknown  be- 
fore ; 

To  the  great  portrait  added  some  new  touch  ; 

Then  left  the  work  to  others  yet  unborn, 

Who  in  their  turn  resumed  th'  unfinished  task. 

From  the  foundation  of  the  world,  of  old 

The  fulness  of  this  scheme  was  known  to  God  ; 

Yet  was  the  mystery  from  the  ages  hid, 

And  slowly  to  the  universe  revealed. 

Therefore  it  was  that  prophets  of  old  time, 


THE  END   OF   TIME,  73 

As  moved  by  God,  successively  declared 
So  much,  no  more,  but  what  to  them  was  told, 
Each  adding  to  the  growing  store  of  truth, 
Which  reached  at  last,  increased  from  age  to  age, 
The  stature  of  the  vast  economy. 

There  was  no  going  back  to  rectify 
Mistakes  or  errors  of  whatever  kind  ; 
But  all  things  indicate  one  stable  plan, 
Never  by  man  entirely  understood, 
Until  the  work  was  finished  by  the  L,ord. 
As  when  some  stately  edifice  is  reared 
And  wrought  upon  by  many  a  toiling  hand, 
The  general  plan  and  full  design  unknown 
Save  to  the  architect  who  guides  the  whole. 
So  on  this  noble  temple  many  wrought, 
Each  building  on  what  had  been  built  before, 
And  each  preparing  for  what  was  to  come. 
In  the  last  days,  the  fulness  of  the  times  ; 
The  crowning  glory  of  the  sacred  pile 
For  the  chief  Architect  himself  reserved 
Whose  power    and  skill  alone  the    work    could 
end." 

SEYMOUR. 

Why  was  this  thought  of  him,  thou  callst   the 

Christ, 
Developed  slowly  through  four  thousand  years  ? 
Methinks  it  should  have  flashed  upon  the  world, 
L,ike  a  bright  meteor  in  the  sky  of  night. 


74  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

BEIvMONT. 

The  meteor  flashes,  then  in  darkness  dies  ; 
Day's  splendor  dawns  but  slowly  in  the  east. 
A  flower  springs  up,  and  lives  a  summer  through  ; 
The  yew-tree  stands  while  centuries  pass  away. 
And  so  with  thee,  divine  Philosophy. 
Some  son  of  earth  doth  plant  thee  in  the  soil, 
And  die,  and  others,  that  are  later  born, 
Water  and  tend,  then  sleep  beneath  thy  shade. 

0  ancient  yew,  thy  roots  are  under  ground, 
And  feed  upon  the  bodies  of  the  dead. 

1  do  not  marvel  that  the  Godhood  yearns 
Through  time's  long  periods  toward  perfect  Man  ; 
Man  the  bright  mirror  of  the  Deity, 
Reflecting  back  the  lineaments  of  God, 

As  the  clear  pool  the  overhanging  sky. 

WALTON. 

Whatever  reasons  we  might  give,  the  fact 
Is  that  the  Christ-idea  slowly  grew. 
Sometimes  for  centuries  it  lay  quite  still, 
Seemed  almost  lifeless,  then  awoke  again, 
As  in  the  case  of  Moses  and  his  code, 
Wonderful  man  whose  life  in  equal  part 
Was  spent  in  Egypt's  porphyry  palaces, 
In  the  stern  solitude  of  Midian's  wilds, 
And  in  the  valley  of  the  Akabah, — 
Cradled  among  the  sedges  of  the  Nile, 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  75 

And  dying  on  the  top  of  Nebo's  mount. 

A  more  eventful  life,  nor  History 

Has  told,  nor  e'en  Romance  has  dreamed. 

A  character  more  noble,  more  profound, 

The  finest  dramatists  have  never  drawn. 

But  that  which  my  attention  mainly  caught 

Was  this  :  of  his  divine  economy 

The  primal  promise  was  the  life  and  soul. 

Largely  expanded  now,  it  comes  to  light, 

Sad  with  the  agony  of  bleeding  lambs, 

Yet  joyful  in  the  hope  of  future  heaven. 

The  overpowering  truth  pressed  on  my  mind 
That  such  prediction,  fifteen  hundred  years 
Before  the  coming  of  the  promised  Christ, 
Was  utterly  beyond  the  wit  of  man. 
Here  a  continual  prophecy  commenced  ; 
For  the  High  Priest,  unceasing,  year  by  year 
Entered  the  place  Most  Holy,  all  alone, 
Not  without  blood  wherewith  he  sprinkled  all, 
To  signify  that  blood  of  priceless  worth, 
Which  should  be  poured  out  for  the  sins  of  men  ; 
Bearing  twelve  tribes  upon  his  jewelled  breast, 
And  clothed  in  clean  and  beautiful  attire, 
To  symbolize  the  great  High  Priest  from  heaven. 
The  smoke  of  countless  offerings  arose, 
Fragrant  with  myrrh  and  incense,  up  to  God. 
For  many  centuries  this  sacred  pomp, — 
The  strangest  spectacle  upon  the  earth, — 
Kept  up  the  hope  of  an  else  hopeless  world. 


y6  THE  END   OF    TIME. 

Half  a  millennium  sweeps  across  the  stage, 
And  David  comes,  sweet  lyrist  of  his  race  ; 
And  with  his  psaltery  and  tuneful  voice 
He  tells  us  of  a  Prince  above  all  Kings, 
More  beautiful  than  all  the  sons  of  men, 
Gracious  in  speech,  his  sword  upon  his  thigh, 
Riding  before  his  hosts  in  majesty  ; 
His  throne,  the  everlasting  throne  of  God, 
Himself  the  God  whose  throne  endures  for  aye. 
Meanwhile  the  joyful  noise  of  ten-stringed  harps 
Breaks  into  wails,  the  voice  is  drowned  in  sobs. 


Three  centuries  again,  and  now  a  bard, 

Rapt  with  the  visions  of  the  future  age, 

Sings  of  the  Wonderful,  the  Counsellor, 

The  Mighty  God,  the  gentle  Prince  of  Peace, 

The  everlasting  Father,  yet  a  child 

Born  of  a  virgin,  to  dominion  born, 

Of  tender  soul  to  comfort  all  that  mourn, 

To  bless  the  meek,  to  bind  the  broken  heart. 

A  shout  of  joy  comes  thrilling  from  the  lyre  ; 

Anon,    how    changed,    how    plaintive    are    the 

strains  ! 
His  hero  hath  no  form  nor  comeliness  ; 
A  man  of  sorrows,  and  acquaint  with  grief ; 
Oppressed,  afflicted,  opening  not  his  mouth  ; 
Bearing  the  sins  of  many,  smitten,  slain. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  Jf 

Two  centuries  elapse.     A  statesman-seer 

Foretells  the  death  of  God's  anointed  One  ; 

He  is  a  Prince,  yet  shall  he  be  cut  off ; 

The  time,  a  half  millennium  away. 

And,  last  of  all  the  prophets  of  old  time, 

One  looks  far  down  the  flight  of  troublous  3Tears, 

And  sees  a  Ruler,  stern  and  dread,  arise, 

Whose  coming  wicked  men  shall  ill  abide. 

And  then  the  voice  of  prophecy  is  hushed 

Four  centuries  ;  and  when  't  is  heard  again, 

It  rings  from  out  Judea's  wilderness, 

And  says,  Behold  !  the  promised  Christ  is  come  ! 

Ask  ye  the  reason  of  this  long  delay  ? 
O  short-lived  man,  with  God  a  thousand  years 
Are  as  a  single  day.     The  pendulum 
That  swingeth  in  Eternity's  great  clock 
Beats  once  a  century.     The  earth  whereon 
We  stand,  was  made  in  weary  lengths  of  time,— 
Weary  to  us,  but  not  to  God  most  High. 

None  of  these  prophets,  if  he  knew  not  all 
That  was  to  be  revealed  in  distant  times, 
Could  know  the  meaning  of  the  words  he  spake 
In  their  full  import,  nor  prepare  the  way 
For  words  of  others  that  should  follow  him. 
Nor  could  he  learn  from  those,  who  went  before, 
Precisely  what  addition  he  should  make, 
Unless  he  knew  the  final  unity, 
In  which  all  prophecy  should  culminate. 
There  must  have  been  some  Mind  Superior 


78  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

That  guided,  governed,  and  directed  all. 

For  look  !  what  elements  incongruous 

Must  need  be  blended  in  that  unity  ! 

The  Jews  themselves  conceived  that  there  must  be 

Two  Christs  : — one  lowly,  one  of  royal  rank  ; 

One  gentle,  merciful  and  sad  of  mien, 

One  that  should  smite  his  foes  with  iron  rod, 

And  when  his  arm  had  won  the  victory, 

His  robes  should  smell  of  cassia  and  of  myrrh, 

Out  of  the  ivory  palaces  brought  forth, 

That  he  might  wed  the  daughter  of  a  king 

Clad  in  wrought  gold  and  rare  embroidery. 

And  would  combined  impostors  e'er  have  dared 

To  introduce  so  variant  accounts  ? 

Characteristics  that  seem  all  at  war 

One  with  another  ?     Is  collusion  here  ? 

And  would  a  skilful  writer  contradict 

Not  only  his  confederates,  but  himself  ? 

SEYMOUR. 

Might  not  the  Galilean  fishermen 

Have  joined  together  to  concoct  a  fraud  ? 

WAI/TON. 

Could  those  unlettered  men  who  spent  their  youth 
In  fishing  in  that  lake  of  Galilee, 
Have  woven  such  discordant  elements 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  Jq 

Into  that  glorious  unity,  the  Christ  ? 

They  hoped  that  One  should  rise  to  set  them  free 

From  the  accursed  yoke  of  pagan  Rome  ; 

Ascend  the  throne  where  David  sat  of  old, 

And  bring  again  the  glory  of  their  past. 

But  when  the  son  of  Mary  pre-announced 

His  fearful  sufferings  and  bloody  death, 

It  shocked  their  souls.     They  knew  not  what  he 

said. 
They  could  not  have  invented  scenes  wherein 
The  Godhead  and  the  Manhood  jointly  worked, 
Each  doing  what  His  several  nature  should  ; 
The  twain  in  one  grand  personage  conjoined, 
But  never  once  commingled  or  confused. 
Just  as  we  see  on  Ocean's  farthest  verge 
Heaven  stoop  to  Earth,  yet  Heaven  is  always 

Heaven ; 
Earth  lift  itself  to  meet  the  bending  sky, 
Yet  Earth,  though  glorified,  is  always  Earth. 
In  this  strange  history,  Eternity 
And  Time  together  sit  with  clasped  hands  ; 
Two  sisters  they,  that  look  so  lovingly 
Into  each  other's  eyes,  and  inmost  hearts, 
And  whisper  of  the  deepest  things  of  God. 
Ah  !  wondrous  Christ,  thou  wast  so  strong,  so 

weak, 
Before  all  worlds,  yet  born  but  yesterday, 
Doing  a  work  that  none  but  God  could  do, 
Dying  a  death  that  none  but  man  could  die  ; 


80  THE  END    OF   TIME. 

Hating  all  sin,  yet  loving  them  who  sinned  ; 
With  eyes  that  never  sleep,  yet  slumbering 
In  thy  fond  mother's  arms,  or  in  a  boat 
Rocked  by  the  tempest  of  Gennesaret ; 
Highest  and  lowliest  of  all  that  are, 
Pure  as  the  snow  upon  Sorata's  heights, 
Yet  guilty  woman,  shrinking  from  all  else, 
Crept  to  thy  feet  and  bathed  them  with  her  tears. 


Could  Galilean  peasants  have  gone  back 

Into  the  dim  traditions  of  their  race, 

And  gathered  up  conceptions  so  apart, 

Scattered  along  through  forty  centuries, 

Shreds  variant,  discordant,  as  it  seemed, 

And  woven  a  transcendent  unity, 

Wherein  the  very  points  which  they  had  deemed, 

And  all  mankind  would  deem,  as  well  as  they, 

Irreconcilable  and  opposite, 

Were  found  to  be  most  indispensable 

To  the  complete  perfection  of  the  whole  ? 

Not  one  could  be  omitted  from  the  list, 

Howe'er  discordant  it  appeared  at  first. 

Could  they  have  so  portrayed  this  character, 

That  all  the  extremes  which  in  His  being  met, 

Were     needed     for    the    likeness    which    they 

limned, — 
Were  needed  for  the  work  He  came  to  do  ? 


THE   END    OF    TIME.  8 1 

But  more,  th'  Evangelists  could  not  select 
Such  features  from  the  writings  of  old  time 
As  they  could  fashion  at  their  own  mere  will. 
They   must   take   all,   each   trait,    each   circum- 
stance, 
Each  thought,  or  plainly  set  in  view,  or  veiled  ; 
Often  not  understood  until  th'  event 
Threw  back  a  light  on  what  before  was  dark. 

SEYMOUR. 

If  I  could  but  believe  there  was  a  God, 
And  that  He  ever  stooped  to  dwell  on  earth, 
Surely  this  Christ  whom  you  extol  was  He. 

BELMONT. 

O  shallow  thinker  !     Is  there  not  a  God  ? 

And  does  He  not  from  age  to  age  evolve 

His  hidden  pow'rs,  His  latent  energies  ? 

From  germ  to  plant,  to  leaf,  to  flower,  to  fruit, — 

This  is  the  law  of  His  development. 

And   so,    germ,  plant,   leaf,   flower,    foretell   the 

fruit. 
Full  many  a  fruit  the  kindly  earth  brings  forth  ; 
And  many  a  man  hath  been  indwelt  of  God. 
Such  was,  mayhap,  this  Jew  of  Nazareth, — 
Greatest  of  all,  as  I  have  sometimes  thought. 


82  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

SEYMOUR. 

I  cannot  understand  thee,  noble  chief. 
But  tell  me,  Walton,  something  of  the  Jew, 
The  Man  who  trod  this  wretched  world  of  ours, 
And  wildly  claimed  to  be  Almighty  God. 
Was  he  what  his  disciples  said  he  was  ? 
I  mean  not  God.     What  was  he  as  a  man  ? 
Thou  know'st  how  hero-worship  often  dreams, 
And  gilds  the  idol  which  it  bows  before. 
Imagination  ' '  gives  to  airy  nothing 
A  local  habitation  and  a  name. ' ' 

WAI/TON. 

A  just  analysis  has  ever  shown 

That  they  who  in  the  drama  have  excelled, 

Or  in  the  general  poetic  art, 

Have  always  done  it  by  their  insight  keen 

Into  the  human  heart.     It  is  beyond 

Man's  power  to  create.     That  work  is  God's. 

And  thus  our  William  Shakspeare  was  a  seer, 

Who  held  that  all  the  world  was  but  a  stage, 

Where    kings    and  clowns,    where  knaves  and 

motley  fools 
All  had  their  exits  and  their  entrances  ; 
While  he  looked  on,  and  noted  what  he  saw, 
And  through  the  gorgeous  robes  of  kings  and 

queens, 
As  well  as  through  the  rags  of  simpering  fools, 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  83 

Beheld  the  palpitating  heart  of  man. 

Then  from  the  garner  of  his  varied  lore 

Took  here  and  there  a  trait  that  served  him  best, 

And  of  these  elements,  combined  anew, 

Made  Hamlets,  Lears,  Othellos,  or  Macbeths. 

The  combination  was  to  some  extent 

The  poet's  own.     Not  so  the  elements. 

Now  take  that  book  which  on  the  table  lies, 

One  character  appears,  pre-eminent 

Above  the  rest ;  and,  I  had  almost  said, 

But  one  appears, — majestic,  beautiful, 

Now  seen  more  dimly,  now  more  clearly  shown. 

Fairer  than  all  earth's  fairest  is  the  Christ, 

Gentler  than  gentlest,  greater  than  the  great. 

I  asked  whence  came  these  gracious  lineaments, 

Found  nowhere  else  but  on  this  spotless  page  ? 

The  separate  elements  are  not  of  earth  ; 

Each  single  tint  is  borrowed  from  the  sky  ; 

And  't  is  no  earth-born  genius  that  has  wrought 

Into  one  Christ  the  manifold  details. 

Now  that  full  thirty  centuries  have  passed, 

Since  He  ascended  from  Mount  Olivet, 

And  went  to  sit  at  God's  right  hand  in  heaven, 

All  men  admit  He  is  above  us  still. 

In  Him  are  heights  the  loftiest  cannot  reach. 

Since  His  appearance  on  this  stage  of  ours, 

The  nobliest  men  are  all  dissatisfied 

With  any  less  ideal.     Far  too  low 

Seems  anything  that  is  beneath  the  Christ ; 


84  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

And  when  they  hope  for  heaven,  they  hope  to 

wake 
In  His  blest  likeness  after  death's  short  sleep. 
This  may    seem  strange,   but    stranger   is   the 

love, 
They  bear  to  Him  who  died  so  long  ago. 

Now  I  bethink  me  how  Napoleon 
Mused  on  the  ruin  of  his  house  and  throne, 
Imprisoned  on  St.  Helena's  bare  rock, 
'Gainst  which  th'  Atlantic's  waves  with  restless 

surge- 
Image  of  his  great  spirit, — chafed  in  vain. 

(Reads  from  a  ms.) 

My  clarions  long  have  hushed  their  cry, 
My  eagles  droop  o'er  land,  o'er  sea  ; 
And  on  this  lonely  isle  I  die, 

My  France,  afar  from  thee. 

On  Fame's  colossal  temple-door 
High  shall  my  name  engraven  be  ; 
And  yet  I  pine  for  something  more, 

Far  more,  my  France,  from  thee. 

Of  tender  sympathy,  a  touch  ; 
A  sigh  when  men  shall  speak  of  me, 
A  thought,  a  tear, — are  these  too  much, 
My  France,  to  ask  of  thee  ? 


THE  END   OF    TIME.  8$ 

Too  much,  alas  !  My  sceptre  flown, 
And  disenthroned  v.y  dynasty, 
With,  sorrow  and  with  pain  I  own, 
France,  thou  art  dead  to  me. 

Spirits  that  in  the  past  held  sway, 
My  lot  with  yours  must  be  the  same, 
To  conquer,  dazzle  for  a  day, 

And  leave  behind — a  name  ! 

One  sole  exception  we  confess, 
A  man  from  human  frailty  free  ; 
A  God,  for  He  can  be  no  less, — 
Th'  Incarnate  Mystery. 

Him,  as  the  ages  onward  sweep, 
Shall  greater  multitudes  adore  ; 
And  men  shall  hear  His  name  and  weep, 
When  we  are  loved  no  more. 

Then  was  there  silence  for  a  moment's  space, 
Till  Seymour  :   "  I  am  ready  to  admit, 
'T  is  a  sublime  conception  that  of  One 
Combining  in  himself  the  twofold  might, 
Nature  and  gracefulness  of  God  and  man. 
Save  in  the  dreams  of  man,  there  is  no  God  ; 
But  the  conception  lives,  and  never  dies. 
It  runneth  through  the  web  of  poesy, 
Like  a  pure  thread  of  gold  through  coarser  stuff. 

6 


86  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

It  archeth  o'er  us  like  the  firmament, 

Which  by  illusion  seemeth  spherical. 

There  is  no  vault  of  heaven.     'T  is  vapor,  air; 

Yet  thitherward  the  loftiest  mountains  rise. 

So  God  is  not,  yet  toward  Him  aspire 

Whoso  are  greatest  or  in  word,  or  deed. 

Men  do  great  actions  in  the  name  of  God. 

I  cannot  solve  this  riddle.     'T  is  a  spell, 

A  word  of  mystery,  of  fear,  of  hope, 

And  never  on  a  banner  is  it  writ, 

But  some  are  found  to  gather  'neath  its  folds." 

BELMONT. 

A  spell  ?     Ah,  better  say  a  talisman, 

Graved  on  the  universe,  which  evermore 

Whispers  to  man  the  Name  ineffable. 

Few  there  may  be,  that  have  the  hearing  ear  ; 

But  they  are  with  divinest  frenzy  filled. 

This  we  name  Genius,  whether  it  be  shown 

In  statesmanship,  or  in  the  art  of  war, 

Science,  philosophy,  or  poetry. 

In  the  first  two,  almost  all  men  adore 

The  revelation  of  the  Infinite 

In  the  two  following,  some  worshippers, — 

Perhaps  I  might  say  many, — wait  and  kneel. 

But  in  the  last,  the  vast  majority 

Say,  as  they  turn  away,  The  poet  raves. 

And  yet  the  sacred  fire  goes  not  out 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  87 

Upon  the  mystic  altar.     Flamens  quaint, 
In  long  succession  through  the  centuries, 
Stand  in  the  chancel  and  supply  the  flame, 
Which  throws  a  ruddy  and  uncertain  light 
On  them  who  prostrate  'mid  the  shadows  bow. 

SEYMOUR. 

I  lay  no  claim  to  comprehend  our  chief, 
Whose  words  of  wisdom  gloom  upon  our  minds. 
A  thousand  years  ago  Napoleon 
Uttered  some  thoughts  like  those  which  Walton 

gave. 
Who  could  have  dreamed  that  he,  that  cruel  man, 
Cruel  though  great,  so  longed  for  human  love  ? 
Here  am  I,  Seymour,  in  this  pleasant  war  ; 
Men  smile  upon  me  when  they  see  me  pass  ; 
And  women,  knowing  what  I  am  full  well, 
Say  with  sweet  voices,  ' '  Gayest  of  the  brave 
Our  Seymour  is,  and  bravest  of  the  gay." 
Doth  any  love  me  ?     Not  one  soul  of  man  ! 
And  in  my  hours  of  sadness  I  exclaim, 
Ah  !  woe  is  me  that  ever  I  was  born  ! 
What  spell  has  fall'n  upon  us  here  to-night, 
That  we  unbosom  thus  our  inmost  selves  ? 
None  loveth  me  to-day  on  all  the  earth  ; 
Yet  I  remember  one  that  loved  me  well ; 
Who  gave  me  birth,  who  held  me  in  her  arms, 
Clung  'round  my  neck  when  I  set  forth  from  home, 


88  THE  END    OF   TIME. 

But  slumbers  now  beneath  the  dewy  sod. 
Ah  !  eyes  of  blue,  when  I  behold  your  light 
Beaming  upon  me  through  the  thickening  cloud 
Of  folly,  sorrow,  passion,  and  remorse, 
I  seem  to  lie  once  more  upon  the  heights 
O'erlooking  Como's  broadly  placid  wave, 
And  see  all  heaven  asleep  within  its  depths. 
Yes,  if  there  were  a  heaven,  it  would  be  glassed 
In  those  sweet  eyes  that  ever  follow  me. 

0  look  not  thus  upon  me,  from  the  past, 
Ye  haunting  eyes,  for  ye  are  of  the  dead. 
Close  your  soft  lids,  and  sink  to  sleep  again, 
For  ye  are  but  the  loveliest  of  dreams, 
And  heaven  itself  a  dream  within  a  dream. 

BELMONT. 

Now  speakest  thou  more  nobly  than  thy  wont. 

1  like  thee  well,  fair  youth,  with  all  thy  faults. 
In  this  dead  heart  of  mine,  if  love  still  lived, 
Know  that  a  bounteous  share  thereof  were  thine. 
With  all  thy  gayety  thou  hast  thine  hours 

Of  sadness.     Oh,  had  I  one  hour  of  joy, 

One  Faust-like  moment  I  should  wish  prolonged  ! 

SEYMOUR. 

Thou  art  too  sad,  great  chief.     If  such  thy  woe, 
Thou  needst  this  jewelled  poniard  more  than  I. 


THE  END    OF    TIME.  89 

(He  unsheathes  the  weapon,  and  holds  it  toward 
BEIvMONT.y) 

See,  on  this  golden  handle,  amethysts 
Set  round  with  pearls  ;  and  on  the  topmost  one 
Largest  of  all,  graven  in  monograms, 
Her  name  entwined  with  mine,  ah  !  woe  is  me  ! 
For  each  to  each  we  gave  a  solemn  pledge, 
That  by  this  selfsame  dagger  both  would  die. 
But,  best  of  all,  this  keen  and  glittering  blade, 
Straight  as  the  line  that  shortest  distance  spans ; 
No  crooked  scimitar  to  hack  and  hew. 
Study  anatomy,  like  Castlereagh  ; 
Find  out  just  where  carotid  arteries  lie, 
And  having   learned    thy   lesson, — then    strike 
home  ! 

BELMONT,  smiling. 

Avaunt  thee,  Satan  ! 

[Faded  then  the  smile 
As  fades  the  glory  of  the  twilight  sky, 
When  gold  and  purple  change  to  steely  gray.] 
My  father  died  ere  I  beheld  the  light ; 
My  mother  when  I  was  a  tiny  lad. 
I  just  remember  how  she  lay  so  pale, 
When  by  her  couch  I  stood  to  see  her  die. 
Scant  love  had  I  in  all  my  boyhood's  years, 
But  in  my  early  manhood  there  was  one, 
Who  loved  me  truly.     She  became  my  wife, 


90  THE  END   OF    TIME. 

And  bore  a  son,  my  Ernest.     Both  are  gone. 
No  winsome  eyes  look  on  me  from  the  past ; 
But  some  that  hollow  are,  from  cheeks  all  gaunt, 
Look  past  me  with  a  fixed  and  frightful  stare, 
As  they  were  gazing  down  eternity. 
Then  blame  me  not,  my  Seymour,  if  I  say, 
Saddest  is  wisest,  wisest  is  most  sad. 

Walton,  thou  holdest  that  the  Deity 
Came  down  from  heaven  to  dwell  upon  the  earth. 
This  I  admit  is  true.     So  Vishnu  came, 
As  is  related  in  the  Hindoo  books. 
So  too  in  classical  mythology 
Jupiter,  Juno,  Venus,  and  the  rest. 

WAI/TON. 

Yes,  I  have  read  of  Vishnu's  Avatars. 
Think  how  he  came,  first  in  the  form  offish, 
Next  tortoise,  bear,  half-man,  half-lion  then  ; 
Such  thoughts  as  these  degrade  the  worshipper. 
But  He,  who  came  to  us  from  highest  heaven, 
So  spake  and  acted  that  in  Him  was  seen 
The  glory  of  the  only  Son  of  God. 
And  on  what  trivial  errands  Vishnu  came  ! 
To  conquer  giants  !     No  exalted  work 
Such  as  a  God  might  wisely  stoop  to  do. 

SEYMOUR. 

Just  there, — I  recollect  what  Horace  says, 
A  deity  should  never  intervene 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  9 1 

Without  a  knot  that  man  could  not  untie. 
What  was  the  work  this  Christ  came  down  to 

do? 
Was  't  something  greater  than  our  chiefest  men 
Have  dared  or  done  ?    Was  it  some  better  thing 
Than  kindly  human  hearts  have  sought  t'  achieve  ? 

WAI/TON. 

It  was  a  twofold  scheme,  that  brought  the  Prince 

Of  Glory  down  from  highest  heaven  to  earth. 

The  first  had  special  reference  to  Time, 

And  had  in  view  the  history  of  the  world. 

A  personage  appeared  in  Paradise, 

Called  God  at  first, — the  great  Creator's  name, — 

And  then  Jehovah  God,  th'  Eternal  one. 

He  gave  the  promise  of  the  Christ  to  come  ; 

Appeared  to  patriarchs  in  their  humble  tents, 

To  Moses  in  the  desert's  burning  bush, 

Again  on  Sinai  'mid  the  fire  and  smoke, 

With  lightnings,  thunders,  and  a  trumpet's  voice 

Exceeding  loud, — so  terrible  it  was, 

The  hearers  quaked  and  trembled  at  the  sound. 

So    dread    the    sight,    that    Moses    feared    and 

quaked. 
This  wondrous  Being  gave  His  law  to  man 
Out  of  the  darkness  of  that  blazing  mount ; 
Then  went  before  the  Hebrews  on  their  march, 
A  cloud  by  day,  a  flame  of  fire  by  night ; 


92  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Glowed  in  the  tabernacle's  holiest  place, 
Glowed  in  the  temple  o'er  the  mercy  seat ; 
Appeared  from  time  to  time  to  sundry  men  ; 
Made  claim  to  be  the  God  of  Israel, 
With  special  favor  unto  Abraham's  seed  ; 
But  more  than  this, — claimed  to  be  God  most 

High, 
And  said  that  He  Himself  would  be  the  Christ ; 
Yea,  that  He  was  the  Christ  through  all  these 

years, 
But  after  lapse  of  forty  centuries 
He  would  appear  on  earth  in  human  form, 
Born  of  a  Virgin,  and  would  work  a  change 
In  the  dominion  He  had  held  so  long. 
Its  narrow  stream  should  widen  to  a  flood, 
The  sway  enlarge  till  it  embraced  the  world, 
An  empire  that  should  last  till  time  should  end, 
Save  just  before  the  end,  a  little  while, 
The  powers  of  darkness  should  rise  up  afresh, 
And  make  revolt  against  th'  Anointed  One. 

In  fulness  of  the  times,  as  long  foretold, 
A  Jew  arose,  of  David's  royal  race, 
In  Bethlehem  born,  but  reared  in  Nazareth, 
Who  said  He  was  the  Christ,  the  Son  of  God  ; 
That  He  had  come  to  execute  this  plan  ; 
That  He  would  win  all  nations  to  himself  ; 
That  to  this  end,  all  power  in  heaven  and  earth 
Was  given  Him,  a  kingdom  spiritual, 
Co-eval  with,  above,  and  over  all 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  93 

The    kingdoms    of   the    earth.     Such    was  the 

height, 
To  which  this  lowly  Nazarene  aspired. 
'T  was  an  idea  far  beyond  his  age. 
Not  of  this  world,  that  holy  kingdom  was, 
But  in  the  hearts  of  men.     Its  glorious  aim 
Was  to  restore  God's  image  to  the  soul, 
Rescue  a  race,  regenerate  mankind, 
Perpetuate  among  the  nations  peace 
And  give  to  wretched  man  a  life  divine, 
Which,    springing    not    from    out    the     hidden 

depths 
Of  his  own  nature,  comes  to  him  from  Heaven, 
And  shows  its  power  in  justice,  truth,  and  love. 
Was  not  this  work  one  worthy  of  a  God  ? 

After  His  resurrection  from  the  dead, 
The  Christ-Man  stood  upon  a  mountain-top, 
Together  with  a  handful  of  His  friends, 
And  bade  them  go  and  conquer  all  the  earth  ; 
And,  what  no  other  conqueror  ever  did, 
Gave  them  this  pledge  and  promise  of  success, 
"  Lo  !  I  am  with  you  till  the  world  shall  end." 
This  was  sheer  madness,  or  it  was  divine. 
Augustus  Caesar,  in  whose  gorgeous  reign 
The  human  Christ  was  born  in  Bethlehem, 
Never  conceived  a  purpose  half  so  grand. 
And  was  it  not  effected  wondrously  ? 
Where  is  the  Roman  Empire  in  our  day  ? 
It  was  a  bold  prediction  on  the  part 


94  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Of  Jesus,  that  His  kingdom  should  endure 
When  Caesar's  throne  had  crumbled.     Yet  't  was 

true. 
Where  are  the  Antonines  ?    Where  Constantine 
Who  bound  two  empires  with  an  iron  band, 
Linking  the  East  to  th'  West  ?    And  where  is  he, 
Great  Theodosius,  Emperor  of  the  East, 
Who  with  his  bristling  bulwark  of  brave  men 
Guarded  the    western    throne,    and   stayed   the 

hordes 
Setting  upon  it  from  the  savage  North  ? 
Alaric's  teacher  in  the  art  of  war, 
He  trained  the  future  conqueror  of  Rome. 
The  seven-hilled  city,  trodden  under  heel, 
Never  regained  her  proud  pre-eminence. 
And  where  is  Charlemagne,  the  Frank's  stern 

king, 
Who  by  his  prowess  and  sagacity 
Rose  to  the  throne  as  Emperor  of  the  West  ? 
Where  now  his  weak  successors  ?     Otho,  too, 
The  German  who  aspired  to  follow  him  ? 
Their    names    survive ;   their   empires   are   dis- 
solved. 
The  kingdom  of  the  Christ  stood  strong  through 

all, 
Stood  many  centuries,  and  stronger  grew, 
And  overcame  its  most  inveterate  foes  ; 
Drove  out  all  idols  and  all  fetishes, 
O'erthrew  Confucius,  Brahm,  Mohammed,  Budh, 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  95 

All  hoary  systems,  all  philosophies, 

And  flourished  on  the  earth  a  thousand  years. 

SEYMOUR. 

I  grant  the  doctrine  of  the  Nazarene 

Of  all  the  superstitions  was  the  best, 

That  it  should  triumph  o'er  idolatry 

And  hideous  serpent-worship,  was  but  right. 

But  we  are  in  a  later  time.     The  torch, 

Held  by  the  Jew,  has  lit  the  way  to  truth. 

We  take  the  true  ;  the  false  we  throw  away  ; 

And  most  of  all,  reject  belief  in  God. 

As  soon  believe  in  ghosts,  ' '  chimeras  dire, ' ' 

And  goblins  which  affright  the  little  child. 

Yes,  in  the  morning  of  the  human  race 

A  God  hung  o'er  us,  as  an  early  mist, 

Vague,  beautiful,  hangs  o'er  the  sleeping  world. 

The  sun  shines  forth  ;  the  fog  is  lifted  up 

From  lowly  vales,  but  lingers  on  the  heights 

That  overlook  the  river's  winding  way. 

The  long,  gray  fringes,  soft  and  delicate, 

Trail  o'er  the  forest's  green  anear  the  sky. 

But  day  advances,  and  the  morning  mist 

Is  gone,  and  all  things  now  are  bright  and  clear. 

BELMONT. 

What  is  the  mist  ?    A  vapor  that  we  see  ; 
But  vapor  always  dwells  amid  the  air, 


96  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Mostly  unseen.     Sometimes  it  gathers  dense. 
And  shows  itself  on  vale  or  mountain  top  ; 
Anon  it  floateth  as  a  cloud  in  heaven. 
So  this  belief  in  God  exists  for  aye, 
Never  quite  absent  from  the  hearts  of  men, 
Sometimes  it  seizes  on  the  vulgar  mind, 
And  works  a  reformation  or  crusade. 
Yet  oftener  it  hovers  'round  the  heights 
Of  Socrates,  of  Plato,  or  of  Christ, — 
Or,  in  some  Mystic,  hath  no  touch  of  earth, 
'T  were  an  ill  thing  to  banish  from  the  air 
All  healthful  vapor  ;  and  it  were  a  worse 
To  drive  from  this  our  world  belief  in  God. 
Walton,  if  thou  hast  more  to  say,  say  on. 

WAI/fON. 

The  second  part  of  this  great  scheme  refers 
Unto  Eternity,  whose  dazzling  lights 
The  Gospel  like  a  broad  reflector  throws 
Athwart  our  pathway  in  this  mortal  state  ; 
Supernal  brilliancy  of  highest  Heaven, 
Intense,  refulgent,  brighter  than  all  hope  ; 
While  in  its  shadow  more  than  man  can  fear 
Of  darkness  is  concentred.     This  is  Hell, 
Whose  sombre  pall  covers  and  hides  from  view 
More  than  Earth's  utmost  anguish  and  despair. 
He,  whom  you  name  the  Jew,  the  Nazarene, 
Says  that  He  came  to  rescue  wretched  man 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  g? 

From  ruin  darker  than  a  felon's  doom, 

More  terrible  than  groans  of  wounded  men, 
Or  shrieks  of  women  bending  o'er  the  slain  ; 
A  ruin  ending  not  with  earth's  brief  years, 
But  stretching  on  and  on  forevermore. 

This  is  the  work  that  Christ  came  down  to  do. 
Its  grandeur  overpowers  the  mind  of  man. 
It  reaches  back  far,  far  beyond  the  time 
When  man  first  stood  upon  the  smiling  earth  ; 
Beyond  the  geologic  eras  vast, 
Whose   slow   succession     dragged     their   weary 

length  ; 
Beyond  what  time  the  worlds  came  bounding  forth, 
Fleet-footed  coursers  of  the  trackless  void, 
Or  launched  like  mighty  steamers  on  the  deep, 
Aglow  with  inward  fires  whose  billowy  smoke 
Streamed  darkly  on  their  path  through  boundless 

space ; 
Beyond  what  time  the  first-born  Sons  of  God, 
The  principalities  and  powers  of  heaven, 
Flashed  forth  like  lightning  into  glittering  ranks, 
With  primal  splendor  startling  ancient  Night, 
And  Silence  with  their  first  melodious  songs  ; 
Before  all  things  save  God  Himself  alone, 
This  comprehensive  plan  lay  in  His  thought, 
As  the  Eternal  mused  upon  His  works, 
And  brooded  on  the  universe  to  be. 
It  reaches  onward  into  endless  years, 
And  lifts  a  countless  multitude  to  heaven, 


98  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

To  endless  life,  and  holiness,  and  bliss. 
The  Christ  shall  gather  into  one  abode 
The  good  of  all  the  ages.     There  shall  be 
No  sin  nor  shame  in  all  that  happy  world  ; 
No  grave  shall  lift  its  long  and  narrow  mound, 
Nor  yawn  with  sunken  and  insatiate  jaws  ; 
Nor  night  be  there,  nor  danger  to  affright, 
Nor  tear,  nor  cry  to  mar  the  perfect  peace  ; 
Forebodings  none,  nor  disappointment's  blight, 
Nor  falsehood's  smile,  nor  treachery,  nor  hate. 
There  shall  be  changeless  love  in  all  that  realm, 
Fond  hearts  that  never,  never  shall  grow  cold, 
Each  loving  all  the  rest,  all  loving  each, 
And  all  forever  full  of  holy  joy. 
So  that  the  Christ  shall  come  again  from  heaven, 
And  make  His  dwelling  with  the  sons  of  men, 
And  they  shall  reign  with  Him  forevermore. 

O  Heaven,  how  sweet  thy  name.  On  dying  men 
Thy  prospect,  lovelier  than  childhood's  dreams, 
Dawns  like  the  Day.    Thy  softened  splendors  fall 
On  trees  and  flowers,  on  gently  rolling  streams, 
And  glorify  the  faces  of  the  saved. 

Was  not  this  work,  too,  worthy  of  a  God  ? 

SEYMOUR. 

Now,  as  I  live,  I  would  this  might  be  true. 
It  is  a  very  lovely  dream  ;  no  more, — 
Else  't  would  redeem  this  empty  life  of  ours 
From  being  what  it  is,  a  tedious  farce. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  99 

BELMONT. 

No  !  not  a  farce.     Better  a  tragedy 

Deep  in  its  plot  and  various,  subtle,  fierce. 

I  long  for  the  denouement,  good  or  ill ; 

But  that,  I  judge,  is  far  from  this  our  day. 

Walton,  there  is  one  failing  in  thy  Christ ; 

At  the  approach  of  death  he  shrank  and  quailed, 

Methinks  a  man  in  whom  the  godhood  dwelt 

So  largely,  as,  thou  say'st,  it  dwelt  in  him, 

Would  never  falter.     Women  have  been  thrown 

Into  th'  arena  where  the  lions  roared 

Waiting  their  prey,  and  not  a  sigh  escaped 

The  fair  young  lips.     No  fear  was  in  their  hearts 

Of  flaming  eyes,  or  claws,  or  bloody  fangs 

Of  beasts  about  to  tear  them  limb  from  limb. 

wai/ton. 

There  was  no  tremor  in  the  heart  of  Christ 
In  view  of  Roman  swords,  or  spikes,  or  cross  ; 
But  the  dread  wrath  of  God  because  of  sin, 
That  He  should  bear  upon  th'  accursed  tree, 
O'erpowered  His  soul  with  sorrow  unto  death. 
More  bitter  was  the  cup  of  which  He  drank, 
Than  all  the  bitterness  of  earthly  draughts, 
Something  we  know  not — may  we  never  know — 
Something  mysterious  confronted  Him, 
And  His  heart  trembled,  for  He  was  a  man. 
Take  now  Prometheus  of  the  Grecian  stage, 


IOO  THE  END   OF    TIME. 

Chained  to  a  rock  by  Jupiter's  command, 
On  a  projecting  crag  of  Caucasus. 
The  fervid  sun  upon  him  beats  by  day, 
The  biting  frost  congeals  his  limbs  by  night. 
Unborn  the  man  whose  hand  shall  set  him  free. 
A  moan  escapes  him.  "  Woe  is  me,"  he  saith  ; 
Yet  he  continues  proudly  to  rebel. 
When  Mercury,  the  messenger  of  Jove, 
Threatens  a  triple  vengeance  on  his  head, — 
Fierce  thunder,   winged    with    the    lightning's 

flames, 
Shall  rend  the  rock,  with  ruin  cover  him  ; 
When  he  at  last  shall  be  dragged  forth  to  light, 
The  ravening  eagle  shall  upon  him  feed, 
Plunging  his  beak  into  his  tenderest  flesh, — 
Prometheus  disdains  the  tyrant's  threats, 
And  scorns  the  utmost  vengeance  of  the  god. 
Plainly  the  Poet  understands  his  theme. 
Prometheus  is  a  pagan  deity, 
Companion  of  the  gods,  a  demigod, 
Weaker  than  Jove,  but  stronger  much  than  man  ; 
And  far  removed  above  our  sympathies. 
Just  as,  't  is  said,  an  ancient  Russian  Czar 
Had  his  equestrian  statue  carved  of  stone, 
Horse,  rider,  pedestal  of  one  huge  rock, 
A  granite  boulder,  man  and  base  alike, 
That  awed  and  chilled  but  could  not  win   the 

heart. 
Ah  !  it  was  necessary  that  the  Christ 


THE  END   OF    TIME.  10 1 

Should  in  one  Person  be  both  God  and  Man. 
And  thus  His  struggles  in  Gethsemane, 
And  His  sharp  cries  while  on  the  bitter  cross 
Disclosed  the  weakness  of  a  human  heart. 
This  is  a  touch  beyond  the  utmost  art 
Of  Galilean  peasants. 

Look  you  now 
At  William  Shakspeare  how  he  paints  Macbeth. 
He  hesitates  about  that  deed  of  blood  ; 
Advances,  halts,  his  conscience  cries,  "  O  stay  !  " 
Ambition  says  "Goon!"  he  strikes  the  blow  ; 
Then,  in  that  hour  of  darkness  and  of  dread, 
He  trembles  when  one  knocketh  at  his  door. 
But  who  of  all  earth's  limners  could  portray 
Almighty  God  and  trembling  man  in  one  ? 
And  what  impostor  could  have  e'er  devised 
That  scene  amid  the  shades  of  Olivet, 
Or  that  upon  the  height  of  Calvary  ? 
Or  would  have  dared  employ  them,  if  he  could  ? 
They  are  beyond  all  human  authors'  reach. 
No  !  here  we  see  the  hand  of  God  Himself. 
Those  awful  cries  ring  through  the  centuries, 
And  men  who  hear  them  beat  upon  their  breasts. 
And  now,  those  cries  resounding  in  my  ears, 
Can  I  continue  in  this  godless  war  ? 
Belmont,  my  high  commission  I  resign  ; 

(He  lays  a  paper  on  the  table.) 

I  cannot  fight  against  the  Christ  of  God. 


102  THE  END   OF    TIME. 

Now  a  dead  silence  fell  upon  the  group, 

And  nought  was  heard  except  the  soughing  wind, 

And  the  great  banner  flapping  overhead. 

Then  Walton  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven  and  said  : 

Sacred  breast  for  me  so  riven, 

Hands  and  feet  all  pierced  and  torn  ! 

Is  it  Thou,  the  Lord  of  Heaven, 
On  this  bloody  cross  upborne  ? 

Pale  thy  cheek,  thy  forehead  gory, 
Motionless  in  death  thine  eye  ! 

Brightness  of  the  Father's  glory, 
Hast  Thou  stooped,  for  me  to  die  ? 

Grace  beyond  my  sins  abounding, 
Nameless  pity,  strong  and  deep  ! 

When  I  view  this  scene  astounding, 
I  can  only  kneel  and  weep. 

While  the  tears  my  eyes  are  blinding, 

To  Thy  feet  my  lips  I  press  ; 
Peace  and  pardon  strangely  finding, 

Through  my  Saviour's  sore  distress. 


There  was  another  pause.     Then  Seymour  said 
"Alas  !  poor  Walton,  for  thou  art  but  crazed, 
To  sorrow  thus  about  thy  Nazarene, 
Who  has  been  dead  for  thrice  ten  centuries. 
Ah  !  woe  is  me,  full  many  a  bitter  cry 


THE   END   OF   TIME.  1 03 

Comes  from  the   dreadful  past  ;  —  will    not  be 

hushed, 
But  echoes  through  the  chambers  of  the  brain. 
Chiefly  at  midnight  when  all  other  sounds 
Are  stilled.     At  such  an  hour  one  comes  to  me. 
I  hear  it  now  !  Silence,  accursed  wail  ! 

(He  starts  up,  and  clutches  the  jewelled  dagger.) 

"  Did  ye  not  hear  it  ?   No  ?  Was  't  but  the  wind  ? 

(He  sinks  back  into  his  chair.) 

"  Yes,'t  was   the   wind.      And   she  is  dead, — is 
dead!" 

WALTON. 
The  dead  still  live. 

SEYMOUR. 

Still  live  ?  Oh,  craze  me  not ! 
Tell  me  not,  Walton,  that  the  dead  still  live. 
Out  on  thee,  madman  !     For  the  dead  are  dead. 
Yet  look  not  thus  upon  me,  eyes  so  dark, 
Out  of  that  pale,  pale  face,  its  bloom  all  gone  ; 
Or  I  shall  madden  and  destroy  myself. 


CANTO  VI. 

Belmont. 

Belmont  was  deeply  moved.     He  rose  and  trod 
Sternly  and  silently,  as  though  he  mused, 
From  end  to  end  of  th'  tent.     Then  at  the  door 
Stopped  for  a  moment,  looking  at  the  sky ; 
Stepped  forth  with  face  upturned  ;  came  back 

and  said  : 
"  A  storm  is  rising  ;  stretch  at  once  o'erhead 
The  cover  of  the  tent.     Enlarge  the  trench. 
The  upper  deep  is  flecked  with  snowy  sails 
Of  a  vast  cloud-fleet  scudding  with  the  breeze. 
Near  th'  horizon,  mounting  momently 
Toward  the  zenith,  crowds  on  crowds  appear 
Of  black- winged  squadrons  that  infest  the  air, 
And  wage  on  high  a  nobler  strife  than  ours. 
I  see  the  flash  of  heaven's  artillery  ; 
And  hark  !  its  thunders  swell  upon  the  ear, 
Sweeter  than  music  o'er  the  nightly  wave. 
I  would  I  were  the  lightning's  subtle  flame, 
Ethereal  essence  of  the  godlike  fire  ! 
How  would  I  leave  afar  the  haunts  of  men 
To  weave  about  each  loftiest  mountain-top 
104 


THE   END   OF    TIME.  105 

A  glittering  diadem  ;  to  smite  the  oak, 

And  hurl  it  crashing  to  the  trembling  ground  ; 

Or,  robed  in  clouds,  to  wing  my  distant  flight 

To  the  remotest  corners  of  the  main, 

Whose  waters  never  have  been  cleft  by  keel  ; 

There,  marching  on  the  furious  blast  by  night, 

To  gleam  along  the  billows  far  and  wide 

With  a  terrific  splendor,  and  send  forth 

My  train  of  thunders  roaring  o'er  the  waste. 

Ah  !  that  were  life  ;  but  this  our  dull  routine 

Of  daily  drill  in  arms,  and  evening  sports, 

Is  bare  existence.     O  for  battle's  joy  ! 

Had  I  but  had  my  way,  I  should  have  crushed 

This  puny,  egg-shell  city  long  ago. ' ' 

WAI/TON. 

Tell  me,  Belmont,  what  scheme  thy  mind  has 

formed 
In  reference  to  this  great  universe. 

BELMONT. 

Hear,  Soldiers,  one  and  all. 
Whatever  is,  was  from  eternity  ; 
But  't  was  not  in  the  forms  we  now  behold. 
There  was  a  time, — if  time  it  may  be  called, — 
When  there  was  nought  save  Matter,  Space,  and 

God. 
No  worlds  were  floating  in  immensity  ; 


106  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

There  were  no  angels,  and  no  souls  of  men. 

Then  God  was  one, — as  He  is  now,  in  truth  ; 

Then  God  was  great,  as  He  shall  ever  be  ; 

In  nature  one,  of  substance  uniform  ; 

Not  matter  ;  call  Him  Spirit,  if  you  like, 

God  was  not  matter  ;  matter  was  not  God. 

A  nobler  essence,  God, — pervading  space, 

Being,  not  living  ;  with  capacity 

Of  boundless  life  in  His  vast  nature's  depths  ; 

Spirit  without  or  feeling,  thought,  or  will. 

And  yet  enshrining  potency  of  all. 

And  matter  was,  through  space  disseminate, 

Its  particles  immeasurably  small, 

Immeasurably  distant,  each  from  each. 

Matter  and  God  alike  were  uncreate, 

And  both  alike  are  indestructible. 

Now  what  is  God  ?    Yon  star,  which  I  beheld 

Shining  in  highest  heaven,  a  moment  since, 

Sent  me  a  message  many  years  ago, 

Borne  by  the  iEther  present  everywhere. 

This  iEther  is  almighty.     It  is  God  ; 

And  the  star  whispered  to  my  soul,  ' '  God  is  !  " 

This  is  God's  substance  homogeneous. 

'T  is  this  which  was,  and  is,  and  is  to  come. 

No  force  resides  in  matter  of  itself, 

Save  power  to  resist  and  to  repel. 

All  force  attractive  dwells  in  God  alone. 

He  is  not  force,  but  force  is  found  in  Him, 

All  power  to  live,  to  labor,  to  create. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  107 

In  all  His  works  Deity  immanent, 

Producing  all  effects  phenomenal. 

Yet  matter  is  the  Godhood's  complement. 

He  could  without  it  have  accomplished  nought ; 

For  't  is  the  stuff  of  which  He  weaves  His  robes. 

God  acts  on  matter  ;  it  reacts  on  Him. 

That  rising  wind  which  dashes  through  the  trees 

That  crown  the  heights  above  yon  river's  brim, 

Sets  them  in  motion  ;  branch  and  twig  and  leaf 

Play  on  the  wind.     All  music  thus  is  made. 

The  wind  must  have  its  harp  of  ^Eolus  ; 

The  harp,  its  wind  ;  or  all  is  still  and  dead. 

So,  without  matter,  iEther  would  have  lain 

Dormant  forever.    Brahm  would  ne'  er  have  waked 

Out  of  his  slumber  in  the  ages  past. 

But  matter  was  from  all  eternity, 

And  ^Ether  an  eternal  waking  knew. 

By  His  intrinsic  force  each  particle 

Moved  tow'rd  its  fellow  through   unnumbered 

years, 
Till  all  became  one  whole,  formless  and  void, 
Vast  beyond  thought  and  yet  not  infinite. 
'T  was  thus   God  made  the  heavens   and  the 

earth, 
Ev'n  as  the  Hebrew  seer  said  of  old. 
And  darkness  rested  on  the  dread  Abyss, 
That  nestled  under  God's  o'erbrooding  wings. 
Now  atoms  smote  on  atoms,  and  there  came 
A  tremor  in  the  bosom  of  the  Deep  ; 


108  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

For  God  said,  ' '  I<et  light  be  "  ;  and  lo  !  light  was. 

The  thrill  was  fainter  than  our  lightest  thought, 

A  glow  most  delicate ;  yet  winged  its  flight 

Throughout  th'  Abyss  and  far  beyond  its  bounds, 

Widening  and  widening  till  the  circling  waves 

Died  on  the  borders  of  Immensity. 

This  was  the  dawn  of  Day,  that  now  uprose 

And  won  a  province  in  Night's  ancient  realm. 

It  lay  amid  the  Night,  as  lies  a  pearl 

Hid  in  the  tresses  of  a  Hindoo  bride. 

It  was  a  smile  upon  the  face  of  God, 

The  promise  of  an  ecstasy  to  come. 

It  was,  in  truth,  the  very  Son  of  God, 

The  Word  revealing,  and  the  God  revealed. 

Or,  as  the  Greeks  would  say,  Minerva  sprang, 

Goddess  of  wisdom,  from  the  brain  of  Jove. 

The  Godhood,  like  a  slumberous  giant,  strove 

T'  arouse  Himself.  His  first  grand  struggle  this, — 

This,  His  first  victory ;  for  "  Know  Thyself,"— 

That  is  the  wisest  word  a  Greek  e'er  spoke. 

Toward  this  the  Deity  forever  strives, 

And  partially  attains  it  in  the  Great. 

Prophets  and  Poets  all  have  owned  the  flame, 

Artists  and  Sages  have  confessed  the  power. 

But  this  was  later.     For  the  first  of  days 

It  was  sufficient  that  the  light  arose  ; 

That  the  God-heart  with  its  first  pulses  throbbed 

And  felt  the  joyous,  vibratory  thrill. 

For  light  was  good.   Ah  me  !  The  light  is  good  ! 


THE  END   OF    TIME.  IO9 

Then  came  the  second  day, — the  period 

When  God  said,  "  Let  there  be  a  firmament 

Between  the  waters,  and  let  it  divide 

The  waters  from  the  waters. ' '     This  was  done 

Not  once,  but  many  times.     It  was  the  law 

Of  the  whole  period.     The  waters  are 

Matter  existing  in  a  vaporous  state  : 

Matter  has  two  chief  forms  that  strike  the  sense  ; 

The  solid  and  the  fluid,  land  and  sea  ; 

The  stationary  and  the  movable. 

That  early  age  was  not  so  nice  as  ours 

In  physical  distinctions,  and  the  Sage 

Called  all  things  waters  in  this  nascent  form, — 

Less  scientific,  more  poetical, 

More  philosophical  than  modern  phrase. 

Just  as  the  brightest  minds  have  ever  sought 

For  formulas  of  comprehensive  grasp, 

Gaining    in    compass,    range,    and    breadth  of 

thought, 
More  than  is  lost  in  accurate  detail. 
So  with  the  Hebrew. 

Now  the  luminous  mist 
Obeyed  attraction's  and  repulsion's  laws, 
And  thus  was  formed  each  island-universe 
Of  rotatory  motion  ;  globe-like  some  ; 
Others  in  spiral  convolutions  whirled, 
Fervid  and  glowing  in  the  mazy  dance. 
Ages  elapsed,  the  process  still  went  on  ; 
Each  island,  first  removed  immensely  far 


IIO  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

From  all  the  rest,  in  systems  now  divides. 

These  in  their  turn  revolve  about  themselves, 

And,  nicely  balanced,  'round  a  centre  wheel. 

Take,  for  example,  that  in  which  we  dwell. 

The  mist  became  a  burning-glass  in  shape, 

Revolving  on  its  short  diameter. 

As  the  huge  volume  small  and  smaller  grew, 

The  inner  portions  sped  more  rapidly, 

Until  a  ring  was  severed  from  the  mass, 

Contracting  to  a  globe  in  lapse  of  time. 

This  we  call  Neptune.     L,ike  a  sentinel, 

Darkly  and  silently  he  treads  his  round. 

So  with  the  rest.     Planets  and  asteroids 

Were  rent  by  piecemeal  from  the  shrinking  mass. 

Waters  from  waters  were  divided  thus. 

Now  centuries  on  centuries  go  by  ; 

Matter  condenses  into  molten  globes, 

Hotter  than  seven-times  heated  furnaces. 

Each  planet  is  a  red  and  threatening  star. 

In  course  of  time  the  surfaces  grow  cold  ; 

And  now  a  fleecy  covering  is  weaved 

With  crimson  flames  that  slowly  pale  to  white. 

The  molten  mass  next  hardens  to  a  sphere. 

Part  that  before  had  been  in  liquid  state, 

Solidifies  into  an  outer  crust. 

Vapors  that  float  aloft  are  turned  to  rains, 

And  fall  in  showers  on  the  parched  ground  ; 

Yet  some  are  subtler  and  remain  on  high. 

Thus  in  its  order  comes  the  brave  expanse, 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  Ill 

And  heaven  first  spreads  its  dome  above  the  earth 
The  third  day  comes,  and,  cooling  down  yet  more, 
The  crust  is  cracked  and  wrinkles  in  ravines, 
Into  whose  depths  the  waters  pour  themselves, 
Dry  land  appears,  but  most  in  mountain-heights. 
The  circumambient  waves  are  called  the  Seas. 
Ocean  is  born,  and  from  its  glassy  front 
Reflected  gleam  volcanic,  dreadful  flames  ; 
And  hissing  on  its  way  this  bomb-shell  earth 
Spins  as  it  flies. 

Thus  were  the  planets  made. 
Such  was  the  Godhood's  first  cyclopean  life, — 
Blind,  powerful,  titanic.     Now  behold 
A  higher  life,  a  new  development. 

WAI/TON. 

Canst  thou  unfold  the  mystery  of  life  ? 

BKIyMONT. 

I  can  at  least  disclose  my  final  thought. 
All  life  is  motion  ;  not  all  motion,  life. 
It  is  not  life  to  whirl  as  planets  do 
About  their  suns.     Not  light  itself  is  life, 
Though  't  is  the  garment  of  th'  Invisible. 
The  lowest  form  of  life  was  in  the  plant, 
Some  type  of  Algae, — call  it  Photophyte, — 
That  grew  upon  the  margin  of  the  Sea. 
But  know  full  well  that  matter  never  lives. 


112  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Matter  may  move,  is  moved  ;  but  life  is  God's. 

Matter  was  forced  to  take  some  complex  form 

By  a  blind  instinct  of  the  deity, 

By  fate,  or,  if  you  like,  by  accident ; 

For  intellect  and  choice  were  not  as  yet. 

The  organism  on  the  iEther  then 

Reacted  and  the  iEther  thrilled  with  life, 

As  on  the  first  day  it  had  thrilled  with  light. 

First  light,  then  life,  the  nobler  of  the  twain. 

Thus  the  harsh  winds,  that  howl  about  our  tent, 

Smite  on  the  camp,  are  smitten  back  in  turn, 

And  vent  their  spleen  in  discord  loud  and  hoarse. 

But  let  Zephyrus  breathe  on  Seymour's  harp, 

And  it  evokes  the  Soul  of  harmony. 

Mayhap  at  first  a  single  string  responds, 

Yet  presently  another  adds  its  note, 

Touched  by  the  fingers  of  the  breeze  unseen, 

Till  many-chorded  music  greets  the  ear. 

So  life  began  upon  this  lifeless  orb. 

' '  Let  the  earth  bring  forth  grass,  herbs  yielding 

seed, 
After  its  kind  the  fruit-tree  bear  its  fruit. 
And  it  was  so."     Now  trunk,  and  stem,  and  leaf, 
Flower  and  fruit,  come  dancing  from  the  earth. 
For  Flora,  maid  of  beauty,  waves  her  wand, 
Like  an  enchantress,  o'er  the  island  peaks, 
And  the  rich  valleys  swelling  from  the  deep. 
Was  it  not  so  ?     Do  not  the  igneous  rocks 
Still  show  the  traces  of  the  world  of  plants, 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  113 

Life's  first  born  in  their  granite  sepulchre  ? 
The  fourth  day  now,  in  which  the  satellites, — 
Moons  to  the  planets, — take  their  shape  and  place. 
Planets  were  fashioned  in  the  previous  age. 
The  central  masses  gather  up  their  strength 
Into  resplendent  suns.     These  viewed  from  far 
Are  stars  that  grace  the  firmament  of  heaven. 
These  are  for  lights,  signs,  seasons,   days,  and 

years. 
The  fifth  day  brings  a  higher  grade  of  life, — 
The  animal,  the  seat  of  thought  and  will, 
Being  that  tastes  of  pleasure  and  of  pain. 
The  Protozoa  in  the  waters  move, 
In  numbers  countless, — most  abundantly. 
The  Godhood  first  displays  intelligence, 
Now  first  exhibits  consciousness  and  choice. 
This  life,  I  know  not  whether  't  was  evolved 
Out  of  that  previous,  lower  one  of  plants, 
Or  freshly  rose  as  that  had  risen  before. 
Certes  the  deity  now  struggles  up 
From  low  beginnings  to  a  higher  plane, 
And  higher  yet  as  ages  wing  their  flight. 
Matter  reluctates,  but  the  work  goes  on  ; 
The  Godhood  yearns  for  ever  nobler  forms, 
Though  sometimes  baffled  in  its  upward  course, 
As  mightiest  rivers  have  their  eddies  too, 
And  yet  their  currents  broader,  deeper  grow. 
Organs  unfinished  in  the  earlier  tribes 
Are  prophecies  of  things  which  are  to  come. 


114  THE  END   0F   TIME. 

Now  fishes  cleave  the  cool  refreshing  seas, 
And  the  birds  mount  and  carol  in  the  air. 
Nature  is  vocal.     In  preceding  days 
Winds  through  the  forests  moaned,  and  restless 

waves 
Dashed  on  the  beach  in  melancholy  wail. 
But  now  the  eagle  screams  above  the  main, 
Thrushes  and  linnets  pipe  amid  the  groves, 
And  the  fond  turtle  to  the  list'ning  vale 
Breathes  the  soft  notes  of  tenderness  and  love. 
Sentient  existence,  conscious,  blissful  life, — 
Such   is   the   fifth   day's   gift.      The    sixth    day 

hears 
The  roar  of  beasts,  the  lowing  of  the  herds. 
But  one  step  more  and  then  the  goal  is  reached. 
O  Image  of  th'  Almighty,  glorious  Man  ! 
Highest  development  of  Deity  ; 
Born  to  dominion,  nobler  than  the  brutes  ; 
Able  to  count  the  worlds,  to  weigh  the  stars  ; 
And  what  is  greater  far,  to  know  Thyself, 
And  thus  know  God,  for  God  is  one  with  Thee. 
The  hour  of  thy  nativity  is  come  ; 
It  rings  upon  Eternity's  great  bell. 
Walk  forth  on  earth,  and  as  thou  viewest  all, 
Flora  and  Fauna,  vales  and  solemn  woods, 
And  snow-clad  peaks,  and  broadly  rolling  seas, 
Day's  glory,  and  the  quiet  heaven  of  Night, — 
Say,  as  thou  only  canst,  that  all  is  good. 
Thy  history  is  God's.     He  finds  in  thee 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  115 

Self-consciousness.     Thy  strength  and  grace  are 

His. 
In  thee  the  deity's  long  striving  ends  ; 
Thou  livest,  movest,  being  hast  in  Him. 
And  thou,  O  Spirit  of  the  universe, 
This,  this  is  life,  to  know,  to  feel  thy  power 
Thrilling  our  heart-strings  into  ecstasy. 
In  thee  we  claim  a  kindred  with  the  stars, 
With    the    great    mountains,    deserts,    torrents, 

floods ; 
And  as  we  see  the  light  of  myriad  worlds 
Soft  glowing  through  the  ethereal  regions  vast, 
We  kneel  to  this  Shekinah  and  adore. 

WAI/TON. 

Art  thou,  then,  God  ? 

BEI.MONT. 

I  am  a  part,  but  not  the  whole  of  God. 

He  is  the  substance  that  pervadeth  all 

The  personalities  that  dwell  011  earth. 

I  am  a  part  of  matter,  not  the  whole  ; 

My  nervous  system  finer  than  the  clod, 

My  brain  more  exquisite  than  that  of  brutes  ; 

And  thus  I  know  I  am  a  part  of  God. 

The  seventh  day  is  not  yet,  but  it  shall  come  ; 

That  day  of  rest,  when  Brahm  shall  sleep  again, 

And  souls  returning  unto  God,  who  gave, 


Il6  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Shall  find  in  him  their  coveted  repose. 
Evening  and  morning  were  the  first  of  days  ; 
Evening  and  morn,  the  second,  and  the  rest, — 
Or  Night  and  Day,  as  we  should  term  them  now. 
Night  brightens  into  Day  ;  Day  sinks  to  Night. 
Such  is  the  law  of  things.     The  human  frame, 
With  the  day's  labor  wearied,  falls  asleep. 
Earth  has  her  winter,  and  man's  dozing  age 
Slumbers  in  death.     So  with  society. 
Nations  are  subject  to  the  general  law, — 
Are  born,  grow,  flourish,  then  decay  and  die, 
If  we  speak  truth  it  is  not  death,  but  sleep. 
Why  then  should  Brahm  not  sleep  ?  The  Hindoo 

Sage 
Felt  and  expressed  the  strong  necessity, 
The  yearning  for  repose  in  Nature's  heart, 
When  he  taught  Man  each  kalpa's  rise  and  end. 
Like  a  sweet  floweret  that  folds  in  its  leaves 
At  night's  approach, — so  shall  this  mighty  frame 
Reverse  the  process  of  its  forming  age. 
In  all  things  are  the  elements  of  death. 
Earth's  moon  is  dead ;  its  plains  are  deserts  bare  ; 
Its  mountains  girdle  horrid  chasms  and  gulfs, 
Scorched  with  the  fires  that  died  out  long  ago. 
No  sprig  of  grass  is  there  ;  no  drop  of  dew, 
No  sign  of  life  midst  universal  death. 
And  earth  has  passed  her  days  of  hey-day  youth, 
Rollicking  springtime,  rich  in  bud  and  bloom. 
'Tis  glorious  summer  now,  when  fruits  and  grains 


THE  END  OF   TIME.  WJ 

Smile  o'er  the  fertile  vales.     The  little  hills 

Clap  their  glad  hands,  and  shout  aloud  their  joy. 

But  Winter  couches  low  at  either  pole, 

And  sternly,  coldly,  surely  bides  his  time. 

All  worlds  by  imperceptible  degrees 

Shall  lose  the  morning  swiftness  of  their  course, 

And  in  one  mouldering  ruin  disappear. 

Just  as  man's  body,  wasting  in  the  tomb, 

Into  its  elements  at  last  resolves  ; 

So  with  God's  body,  this  fair  universe. 

L,ife,  motion,  separate  being  all  shall  cease, 

Light,  earliest  born,  the  last  to  close  her  eyes  ; 

And  then  shall  ancient  Night  resume  her  reign, 

And  quell  this  rebel  province  to  her  sway, 

Ocean  of  Darkness,  thou  no  pity  hast  ; 

Forever  dashing  madly  on  the  beach, 

Where  the  far  nebulae  defend  the  coast ; 

Thou  seekest  to  o'erwhelm  this  upstart  isle, 

And  thou  shalt  gain  thine  end,  Most  Terrible  ! 


Thus  dies  the  universe.     Thou  canst  not  die, 
Thou,  who  of  old  the  earth's  foundation  laidst ; 
Whose  hands  have  wrought  the  heavens  with  all 

their  hosts. 
Perish  all  else,  yet  thou  shalt  still  endure. 
They  shall  wax  old,  and  as  a  garment  thou 
Shalt  change  them,    and  thy  vesture  shall  be 

changed, 
Thou  art  the  same.  Thy  years  shall  have  no  end, 


Il8  THE  END  OF  TIME. 

WAI/TON. 

And  shall  the  universe  awake  no  more 
From  this  dread  death  which  thou  hast  nam  2d  a 
sleep  ? 

BELMONT. 

Saith  not  the  Seer,    "Thy  vesture  thou  shalt 

change  ?  ' ' 
The  ^Ether's  power  is  infinite,  because 
The  ^Ether's  self  extends  without  a  bound, 
And  stretches  through  th'  infinitudes  of  space. 
It  cannot  act  where  it  is  not  itself. 
Hence  as  this  spacious  universe  contracts, 
The  Other's  power  diminishes  therewith. 
Matter  repels, — resists  the  ^Ether's  force  ; 
As  this  grows  weak,  the  other  stronger  grows ; 
And  so  at  last  an  equipoise  is  reached, — 
An  equilibrium,  and  that  is  Death. 
The  iEther  uses  matter  as  a  means 
Of  acting  on  Itself.     Force  never  dies. 
Countless  vibrations  have  but  sped  abroad 
To  heap  up  Force  in  regions  far  away. 
Ere  it  reflows,  the  stubborn  energy 
Of  matter  drives  the  atoms  all  apart. 
Kach  particle  with  endless  being  fraught 
Survives  the  wreck.     This  is  the  law  of  laws, 
And  underlies  all  others.     Next  to  this, 
Is  the  great  law  of  change.     Man  wakes  from 

sleep, 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  II9 

And  to  the  toil  of  daily  life  returns. 
Earth  wakes   from  winter,    and  spring's  kindly- 
warmth 
Mantles  her  form  in  beauty  and  in  bloom. 
This  is  the  law  of  change  :  From  death  to  life, 
From  life  to  death  again  forevermore, 
As  Ocean  ebbs  and  flows,  and  flows  and  ebbs. 
So  Brahma,  Vishnu,  Siva  have  their  roles, 
And  thus  they  run  :  Create,  Sustain,  Destroy  ; 
Or  we  may  say,  Uplift,  Uphold,  Cast  down. 
And  Brahma  placed  our  earth  in  Vishnu's  arms, 
A  smiling  babe,  now  grown  to  womanhood, 
A  dream  of  beauty.     Vishnu  falls  asleep, 
And  Siva  comes  and  strangles  her  to  death. 
Then  Siva  slumbers,  and  the  mystic  Three 
All  sleep  in  Brahm,  for  He  is  all  in  all. 
Ages  on  ages  pass,  and  Brahm  awakes, 
And  re-creates  the  Triad,  and  again 
The  word  is  given,  Create,  Sustain,  Destroy. 


CANTO  VII. 

Symposium. 

He  said  and  paused,  apparently  absorbed 
In  his  own  thoughts.  Then  Walton  :  ' '  Dost  accept 
The  first  leaf  of  the  Book  inspired  of  God  ? 
What  credence  givest  thou  to  all  the  rest  ?  ' ' 
To  whom  Belmont :  "  I  hold,  much  truth  is  found 
In  all  religions, — much  too  that  is  false. 
To  Moses  and  the  Prophets  praise  is  due, 
And  the  first  chapter  of  the  Book  makes  clear 
That  the  great  Hebrew  spake  as  moved  of  God  ;  or 
That  is,  in  him  the  Godhood  largely  dwelt, 
More  than  in  other  men  of  that  his  day. 
And  otherwise  we  strive  in  vain  to  show 
The  source  of  his  deep  wisdom.     Yet  I  think 
That  even  here  his  views  too  narrow  were, 
Nor  understood  he  fully  what  he  wrote. 
Ever  the  sayings  of  the  Wise  are  dark, 
Though  clearer  to  themselves  than  to  the  herd. 
The  universal  Spirit  muses  long 
Before  it  understands  its  own  high  thoughts. 
'T  is  so  in  every  science  ; — most  in  this 
Which  seeks  the  knowledge  of  his  inmost  self; 
1 20 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  121 

And  many  centuries  had  passed  away 

Before  a  true  interpreter  arose, 

Those  words  of  purest  wisdom  to  expound." 

WAI/TON. 

Thou  speakest  of  a  spirit ;  yet  't  is  plain 
Thy  God  is  but  a  subtle  form  of  matter. 

BELMONT. 

The  iEther  is  not  matter,  for  it  has 

No  weight ;  does  not  retard  the  comet's  flight, 

Whose  gauzy  veil  dims  not  the  faintest  star. 

What  men  style  spirit,  seems  to  me  but  nought ; 

Kv'n  less  than  empty  space,  if  such  might  be  ; 

A  mere  vacuity  that  cannot  have 

L,ength,  breadth  or  height,  or  qualities  or  powers, 

But  is  the  merest  shadow  of  a  name. 

iEther  exists,  't  is  here,  't  is  everywhere  ; 

In  its  totality  has  boundless  strength  ; 

Has  been  of  old,  from  all  th'  eternal  years  ; 

Knows  not  decay,  can  never  cease  to  be. 

I  ask,  of  what  can  these  be  true  save  God  ? 

All  life  is  God's  ;  all  thought,  all  will  are  His  ; 

All  love,  all  hate,  all  sorrow,  and  all  joy. 

Nought  else  can  think,  or  will,  or  love,  or  hate. 

Crass  matter  surely  can  do  none  of  these. 

Then  what  is  left  us  but  that  wondrous  Presence 


122  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Which  doth  inhabit  this  broad  universe, 

But  which  the  heaven  of  heavens  cannot  contain  ? 

This  mighty  fabric  is  engulfed  in  God, 

Who  is  around,  above,  beneath  it  all ; 

And  be  it  still,  or  sweepeth  it  along 

Age  after  age  straight  forward  on  its  course, 

Yet  is  it  ever  midway  of  the  Deep, 

As  Time  is  midway  of  Eternity, 

While  in  at  every  window  looks  the  Night. 

Would  I  were  all  of  God,  as  I  am  part ; 
For  then  through  boundless  space  would  I  enjoy 
The  long  Nirvana  of  the  Buddhist  creed, 
And,  stamping  out  this  hostile  universe, 
Would  wrap  myself  in  darkness  as  a  robe. 

WALTON. 

This  iEther  which  thou  claimest  as  thy  God, 

Is  only  Matter,  thin  and  tenuous  ; 

For  't  is  elastic,  and  it  answers  back 

To  thrills  of  light-producing  molecules, 

Or  bounding  pulse  of  human  nerves  or  brains, 

As  air  responds  to  quivering  strings  of  harps. 

BELMONT. 

Then  call  it  Matter,  Walton,  if  thou  wilt. 
Names  do  not  terrify  me  as  of  yore. 
A  thrill  of  nerve  begets  a  thrill  of  soul ; 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 23 

How  could  this  be,  if  they  were  not  alike  ? 
The  chasm  betwixt  the  brain  and  what  is  called 
Spirit,  has  ne'er  been  bridged,  can  never  be. 
How  does  that  ghostly  Nothing  apprehend 
The  motions  of  the  substance  that  we  are  ? 
Take  cognizance  by  eye,  or  ear,  or  hand  ? 

wai/ton. 

I  cannot  tell.     This  is  a  depth  profound  ; 

And  yet  I  know  that  something  in  me  thinks, 

And  feels,  and  wills.     Matter  does  none  of  these. 

Canst  thou  in  millimetres  measure  love  ? 

Count  the  vibrations  of  a  trembling  hope  ? 

Or  graphically  represent  a  fear  ? 

My  hand,  my  eye,  my  ear  are  not  myself, — 

The  mystery  denominated  I. 

Rend  them  away  from  me  ;  I  still  remain. 

Have  ^Ether's  particles  free  will  or  choice? 

Can  they  be  one,  as  I  myself  am  one  ? 

Is  each  of  them  an  individual  soul  ? 

Or  does  a  cluster  make  one  conscious  self? 

Do  countless  tiny  atoms,  all  apart, 

Gyrate  in  curves  or  spirals  intricate, 

And  is  this  whirling  motion  thought  or  will, 

Noble  self-sacrifice  or  tender  trust  ? 

A  movement  to  the  right, — can  that  be  joy  ? 

A  left-ward  progress,  terror  or  despair  ? 

Surely,  Belmont,  thou  canst  not  thus  believe  ! 


124  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

BELMONT. 

The  wine  in  yonder  crystal  cup  hath  caught 

Its  color  from  the  sun,  and  flasheth  forth 

From  out  its  heart  a  beauteous  ruby  red  •• 

And  this  upon  the  retina  doth  beat, 

Making  vibrations  many  million-fold 

In   one  brief  second's  space.      Thus  much  we 

know. 
But  is  this  all  ?    No  ;  something  stands  behind 
In  the  brain's  deep  recesses  that  can  see. 
I  hold  it  is  the  iEther,  which  thou  know'st 
Is  there.     Why  fly  to  something  that  is  Nought  ? 

WALTON. 

Belmont,  our  spirits  are  most  real  things. 
Infinite  ages  ere  there  was  a  world, 
Spirit  existed.     Out  of  nothingness 
It  summoned  matter  by  creative  act, 
And  holds  it  up  in  being  to  this  hour. 
And  though  this  mighty  universe  should  sink 
Back  to  the  nothingness  from  which  it  came, 
Spirit  would  live,  and  live  forevermore. 
That  first  of  spirits  is  th'  eternal  God, 
And  we  are  like  Him,  though  of  less  degree. 
We  think,  we  feel,  we  will,  we  love,  we  hate  ; 
All  these  we  do,  and  yet  we  know  not  how. 
We  too  are  tied  to  matter,  like  the  Christ, 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 25 

Who  stooped  to  earth  to  share  our  lowly  state, 
And  bore  to  heaven  a  body  like  our  own. 
How  can  this  be  ?     I  own  I  cannot  tell, 
Nor  all  the  mysteries  of  life  explore. 
But  still  thy  theory,  though  't  is  akin 
To  ancient  Grecian  thought,  rests  on  the  sand. 
From  star  to  star  thy  iEther  may  extend, 
Or  ev'n  beyond  ;  but  is  it  infinite  ? 
This  were  a  mere  assumption,  wanting  proof. 
Then  as  to  us  poor  trembling  sons  of  men, 
If  what  thou  hold'st  be  true,  death  ends  us  all, 
And  none  of  us  hath  life  beyond  the  grave. 

BELMONT. 
(  With  a  troubled  look  and  sighing  deeply.) 

Sooner  or  later  Seymour's  tuneful  harp, 
Its  strings  all  snapped,  shall  crumble  into  dust 
The  winds  that  wont  to  wake  its  melodies, 
Shall  seek  for  it  in  vain  through  tent  or  hall, 
Shouting,    "Where  art  thou,    friend  of  joyous 

hours?  " — 
Anon  to  whisper  softly,  ' '  Art  thou  dead  ?  ' ' 

Man  dies.     His  nerves  and  brain  disintegrate, 
And  the  fond  iEther  stirs  him  not  again. 
Dust  unto  dust  perpetually  returns, 
And  these  proud  bodies  shall  again  be  clay. 
Why  not  ?    We  momently  are  giving  back 
Unto  the  world  of  Plants  the  elements 


126  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Which  it  had  lent  to  us.     Thus  keep  we  up 
The  never-ending  commerce  of  the  realms. 
We  die  ; — our  bodies  turn  again  to  dust ; 
That  is  in  part, — for  gases  first  exhale, 
Float  in  the  air  and  nourish  trees  and  flowers. 
Perchance  the  warrior's  sinews  re-appear 
In  the  tough  branches  of  the  sturdy  oak  ; 
While  the  young  maiden's  bloom  adorns  the  rose, 
And  her  fair  forehead  in  the  lily  shines. 

All  vegetation  feeds  thereon  ;  the  moss, 
Lowliest  of  all, — cedars  of  Lebanon, 
And  giant  pines  of  California, 
With  mountain  firs  and  ash.     By  these  again 
The  animals  are  fed,  save  such  as  prey 
On  others.     That  removes  it  but  a  step. 
Thus  from  the  rhizopod  to  th'  elephant, 
And  from  the  dewdrop's  viewless  denizens 
Up  to  the  lord  of  seas,  leviathan, 
The  range  extends.     We  may  become  each  one. 
This  is  the  truth  that  lay  concealed  beneath 
The  fables  of  the  East.     Who  kills  a  worm, 
May  tread  some  hero's  dust.     That  dust  again 
May  shine  in  arms,  may  glow  in  battle's  front. 
Thus  may  we  live,  and  thus  we  still  shall  be. 

WAI/TON. 

But  hast  thou  never  felt  desire,  Belmont, 
For  individual  life  beyond  the  grave  ? 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  \2J 

And  gives  thee  not  that  thought  a  single  pang, 
That  thou  th5-self,  Belmont,  shalt  cease  to  be  ? 

BELMONT. 
(  With  a  dreary  smile.) 

"  Man  is  a  billow  ;  God  the  shoreless  sea." 
So  spake  the  seers  of  the  olden  time. 
Once  more  to  mingle  with  the  Infinite, — 
This  is  our  end.     Should  we  refuse  the  boon  ? 
Can  we  refuse  it  ?     No  !    't  is  doom  ;  't  is  fate. 
Once  I  was  in  a  storm.     'T  was  night.     I  slept 
In  a  good  barque,   and  dreamed  of  friends  and 

home. 
Methought  the  sky  was  blue,  the  air  was  sweet, 
Laden  with  votive  offerings  of  the  flowers  ; 
And  they  were  there,  the  long-lost  ones,  the  dead, 
All  there  again  in  that  ancestral  hall. 
But  suddenly  the  sky  grew  black  ;  the  wind 
Began  to  howl,  the  house  to  rock,  the  earth 
To  reel  beneath  our  feet, — and  I  awoke  ; 
Awoke  to  hear  the  shouts  of  frantic  men, 
And  woman's  scream,  and  the  mad  tempest's  roar. 
I  felt  the  strong  ship  quiver  as  a  horse 
Under  his  rider's  lash.     The  Captain  cried, 
' '  Great  God,  we  're  lost ! ' '    Ah  !  there  was  terror 

then. 
Men's  hearts  gave  way,  that  ne'er  had  quailed 

before. 


128  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

They  fell  upon  the  deck  ;  they  cried  to  heaven. 
All  but  myself.     I  struggled  through  the  crowd. 
One  flung  his  arm  around  my  neck,  and  said  : 
' '  O  pray,  Belmont  !  "     I  sternly  thrust  him  off, 
And  made  my  way  above,  and  lashed  myself 
Fast  to  the  mainmast.     If  an  age,  O  Hell  ! 
Spent  in  thy  darkest  confines,  doth  contain, 
A  tithe  of  that  dread  hour's  agony, 
Let  me  ne'er  dwell  a  moment  in  thy  pit. 
But  those  weak  wretches,  how  I  envied  them, — 
And  scorned  by  turns, — who  thought  their  souls 

should  live 
Forever,  and  yet  shrieked,  and  raved,  and  prayed. 
All  that  is  past ;  yet  it  is  sad  to  think, 
However  high  with  hope  the  pulse  may  beat, 
Whatever  rapture  kindle  in  the  heart, 
Or  fire  of  genius  glisten  in  the  eye, 
All,  all  must  perish  from  the  goodly  earth, 
As  lightnings  are  extinguished  in  the  sea. 
Great  sea  of  God  !  so  fathomless,  so  calm 
Far  down  beneath  the  sparkle  of  thy  waves  ; 
The  laughter  of  the  young,  sweet  music's  charm, 
Blushes  of  maidens  at  the  words  of  love, 
And  smiles  of  mothers  o'er  their  cradled  joy  ; — 
These  are  the  ripples  playing  o'er  the  Deep, — - 
0  God,  how  deep,  and  how  unmerciful ! 
But  the  strong  voices  of  great  orators, 
Rousing  the  hearts  of  men  to  glorious  deeds, 
And  the  fierce  shout  of  battle,  and  the  rage 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 29 

That  overpowers  fear  in  human  breasts, — 

Are  they  not  billows  surging  mountain  high, 

And  struggling  heavenward  for  the  mastery  ? 

Yet  both  alike  shall  faint,  and  die  away, — 

Shall  die  in  thee,  O  God,  the  pitiless  ! 

Fate,  grant  me  this,  that  what  I  am,  be  doomed 

Not  long  to  linger  in  the  idle  grave. 

L,et  me  not  be  the  dull,  insensate  clod. 

The  storm,    the  whirlwind,    heaven's   resistless 

fire, — 
Such  be  Belmont.     Or  better  still,  be  Man, 
Man  as  he  shall  be,  not  as  he  is  now. 
As  for  the  rabble,  I  would  rather  be 
A  crawling  worm,  or  some  curst  pestilence, 
The  scourge  of  earth,  stealing  my  way  by  night, 
And  blasting  all  the  coward  multitude. 

wai/ton. 

"  Man  as  he  shall  be," — was  it  this  thou  saidst  ? 
And  hast  thou  yet  a  lingering  hope  of  life 
Beyond  the  Present  ? 

BELMONT. 

The  sages  taught  us  that  Eternity 
Moves  not  straight  on,  but  in  a  cycle's  round. 
Five  myriads  of  years  that  round  requires  ; 
Then  what  has  happened  shall  occur  again, 


130  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Another  Tiphys  be,  and  steer  his  ship, 

The  good  ship  Argo  with  its  heroes  choice, 

Seeking  the  golden  fleece  from  Colchian  shore  ; 

And  swift  Achilles  sail  again  to  Troy, 

And  drag  a  Hector  'round  the  city  walls. 

In  earlier  life  methought  this  might  be  true. 

Matter  was  finite  ;  iBther,  infinite  ; 

And,  in  the  course  of  endless  years,  the  Past 

Must  of  necessity  repeat  itself, 

Though  it  should  take  a  myriad  myriad  years. 

But  when  I  saw  the  struggling  Deity 

Advancing  step  by  step  to  higher  forms, 

Saw  how  imperfect  were  the  noblest  men, 

The  noblest  always  most  dissatisfied, 

And  longing  most  for  something  unattained  ; 

I  held  there  might  arise  a  golden  age 

Foretold  by  Sibyls,  and  by  horrid  Fates, 

Clotho  and  L,achesis  and  Atropos, 

And  promised  to  His  followers  by  the  Christ. 

Then  men  shall  be  immortal  like  the  gods, 

Exalted  men,  of  giant  intellect, 

Profound  in  knowledge,  of  supernal  power 

To  fly  on  tireless  wing  from  star  to  star, 

And  garner  knowledge  from  the  utmost  heavens. 

If  I  may  not  be  God,  the  Infinite, 

I  would  be  Man,  the  highest  form  of  God  ; 

Man  with  the  grandeur  that  is  yet  to  be. 

But  could  that  wondrous  Being,  so  august, 

Remember  me  and  know  that  he  was  I  ? 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  131 

What  is  this  Personality  which  binds 

Past,  present,  future  of  our  life  in  one  ? 

What  chain  is  this,  unseen,  impalpable, 

Yet  stronger  than  most  ponderous  links  of  steel  ? 

Am  I  the  same,  that  once,  a  little  boy, 

Hung  'round  my  mother's  knee,  and  feared  the 

dark? 
What  is  the  during  substance  that  abides 
Through  all  the  changes  of  our  mortal  state  ? 
Sameness  of  brain  and  nerve,  of  form  and  mold  ? 
Or,  — matter  changing — iEther  still  the  same  ? 
But  when  this  human  frame  disintegrates, 
And  all  its  atoms  scatter  to  the  winds, 
The  bond  is  broken.     It  is  I  no  more. 

WALTON. 

Despairing  man,  thine  is  a  joyless  faith. 

Wert  thou  not  happier  to  be  as  they 

Who  know  not,  think  not  of  such  fearful  things  ? 

BELMONT. 

Thy  words  were  wise,  if  happiness  were  all. 
The  highest  crags  are  those  most  scarred  and 

riven 
By  the  red  thunderbolt.     When  winds  are  heard 
Through  the  deep  forest  sighing,  't  is  the  oak, 
Lifting  its  lofty  head  above  the  rest, 
That  gives  so  plaintive  answer  to  the  breeze. 


132  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Noblest  are  saddest.     Christ  was  sorrowful  ; 

And  when  I  see  His  anguish-stricken  face 

From  some  high  Olivet  look  down  on  Earth, — 

The  tear-drops  stealing  from  His  piteous  eyes, — 

I  almost  feel  that  I  could  worship  Him. 

And  worship  Him  I  do,  but  not  as  thou. 

I  bow  before  the  sadness  so  divine, 

World-sadness  gathered  in  one  woe  intense. 

As  to  myself,  thus  much  I  may  disclose  : 

Once  from  the  Andes'  west  acclivity 

I  saw  a  condor  mounting  tow'rd  the  skies. 

There  is  a  grandeur  in  a  bird's  ascent 

That  made  my  heart  leap  in  me,  from  a  boy. 

And  so  I  watched  him  circling  higher  still, 

Almost  unseen,  when  lo  !  a  lurid  shaft 

Shot  from  an  envious  cloud  and  pierced  his  heart. 

Mine  too  it  pierced.     "Yet,  thou  proud  bird,"  I 

said, 
' '  May  I  but  reign  like  thee,  and  like  thee  die, 
Without  a  moment's  warning  or  a  fear." 

Nobly  to  die — yes,  nobly, — that 's  the  word, — 
This  well  becomes  the  great,  and  fitly  ends 
The  life-long  tragedy.     Then  let  me  fall 
Leading  my  legions,  dying  sword  in  hand. 
Let  soldiers  bear  me  to  a  soldier's  grave  ; 
Let  wild,  impassioned,  melancholy  strains 
Of  martial  music  sadden  all  the  air, 
Supported  by  the  cannon's  sullen  roar ; 
And  let  men  say,  ' '  Here  lies  what  was  Belmont. ' ' 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 33 

WALTON. 

Sorrow  is  great,  but  joy  is  greater  still. 

Thou  wrongest  Christ  with  any  other  thought. 

I  know  that  He  was  sorrowful  on  earth  ; 

But  this  was  for  a  purpose, — for  a  time. 

He  bare  our  griefs,  He  carried  all  our  woes  ; 

It  pleased  the  Lord  to  bruise  Him  for  our  sakes  ; 

But  now  the  bitterness  of  death  is  past. 

God  is  forever  blessed.     I  rejoice 

To  look  above  the  storms  that  ravage  earth, 

To  th'  undisturbed  serenity  of  heaven  ; 

As  from  some  peak  we  view  an  azure  sky 

While  hostile  tempests  war  far,  far  below. 

God  is  forever  happy,  and  the  good 
Partake  forever  of  His  bliss  and  peace. 
Man  then  at  last  shall  realize  those  hopes, 
Man  there  shall  gratify  those  large  desires, 
Which  now  and  here  heave  like  a  troubled  sea 
In  some  pent  cavern  by  the  ocean's  marge, 
That  longs  t'  expatiate  on  the  boundless  main. 
These  are  what  Christ  hath  promised  wretched 

man. 
What  sayest  thou  of  them  ? 

BELMONT. 

They  are  prophetic.     I  have  felt  them  oft, 
Stirring  the  waters  of  my  inmost  soul ; 


134  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Yet  they  foretell  not  what  myself  shall  be, 

But  what  the  godhood  shall  one  day  attain. 

For  progress  is  a  fundamental  law 

Of  individual  men,  the  race,  and  God. 

"  Onward,  still  onward,"  is  the  word  of  march  ; 

And  when  the  drumbeat  of  the  Universe 

Falls  on  the  listening  ear  of  Deity, 

He  presses  forward  with  a  warrior's  step. 

On,  on  forever  !     There  is  no  retreat. 

His  rest  is  but  a  sleeping  on  his  arms. 

Not  so  with  us.     The  oak  attains  its  size 
After  protracted  centuries  of  growth, 
Then  gradually  sinks  into  decay. 
Man  finds  his  acme, — first  in  what  is  called 
His  body  ;  then  in  what  we  style  the  soul ; 
Then  on  his  being's  shore  dies  like  a  wave. 
The  Infinite  proceeds  far  otherwise, 
Halts  but  to  gather  strength  for  future  deeds, 
And  those  new  deeds  are  greater  evermore. 

wai/ton. 

What  thou  rejectest  is  a  personal  God. 

Thou  dost  accept  the  Pantheistic  One, 

The  Absolute  ;  Entity  tenuous, 

Essence  diffused  throughout  immensity, 

That  thinks  not,  feels  not  save  by  matter's  aid  ; 

That  slumbered  through  a  long  eternity, 

And  slumbers  now  more  deeply  than  of  old, 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 35 

Except  in  this  broad  temple  of  the  worlds, 
So  vast  to  us,  yet  but  a  point  to  Him. 
To  Him  ? — to  It ;  that  is  the  proper  word. 
And  of  this  new-made  temple  we  are  priests. 
Only  in  us  can  It  say  Thou,  and  I. 
In  us  the  iEther  worshippeth  itself ; 
Man  is  self-conscious  God,  and  God  is  Man. 
Man  is,  forsooth,  the  highest  form  of  God  ! 
Ah  !  in  my  wildest  wanderings  from  Him, 
I  never  strayed  so  far.     Either  no  God, — 
None,  none  at  all, — or  else  a  God  in  truth  ; 
Distinct  from  Nature,  Maker  of  the  worlds  ; 
No  fiction  crowned  and  seated  on  His  throne. 
I  reverence  but  I  cannot  worship  Man  ; 
Much  less  beasts,  birds  or  reptiles,    stocks    or 
stones. 
"  God  is  not  personal  except  in  man." 
Such  thy  belief.     Now  how  are  we  to  know 
That  man  is  personal  save  by  his  works  ? 
An  author  is  a  person,  for  he  shows 
Intelligence  and  will.     An  artist  too 
For  the  same  reason.     Look  at  Nature's  book, 
With  gold  and  crimson,  lily-white  and  blue 
Illuminated  ;  garnished  with  designs 
Of  mountains,  forests,  lakes,  clouds,  waterfalls. 
If  any  man  interpret  what  is  writ, 
Or  if  he  catch  a  glimpse,  just  here  and  there, 
Of  the  all- wondrous  glory  that  enrobes 
This  little  planet  whereupon  we  dwell, 


136  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

How  loud  are  our  encomiums  on  his  skill  ! 
And  shall  we  say  that  He, — that  That  which 

made 
All,  and  immeasurably  more,  hath  less 
Of  understanding  and  of  will  than  Man  ? 
Can  He  be  blind  who  formed  the  eye  to  see  ? 
Or  deaf,  who  made  the  ear  ?    Was  less  required 
To  frame  our  bodies,  exquisitely  planned, 
Than  to  discover,  by  research  prolonged 
Through  many  ages,  how  and  why  each  part 
Performs  its  functions  ?    Does  the  mother  know 
The  structure  of  its  curious  organism, 
As  with  unmeasured  fondness  she  surveys 
Her  tender  offspring  nestling  in  her  arms  ? 
How,  of  her  substance,  cartilage  and  bone, 
Muscle  and  nerve,  blood,  artery  and  vein 
Have  been  wrought  out  ?     How  from  her  crimson 

tide 
Soft  silken  hair  and  eyes  of  blue  were  made  ? 
Or  why  the  father's  forehead,  or  those  lips, 
Which  she  herself  now  presses  to  its  cheek, 
So  re-appear  and  claim  redoubled  love  ? 
Or  knows  she  aught  of  tissues  cellular, 
And  all  the  deep  economy  of  life  ? 
There  is  a  wisdom  loftier  than  man's  ; 
There  is  a  purpose  older  than  his  will ; 
There  is  a  Spirit  whose  transcendent  power 
Created  and  sustains  this  universe. 
Him  I  adore, — not  that  which  He  hath  made. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 37 

BELMONT. 

This  fable  of  the  priests  I  once  believed, 

And  certainly  some  instinct  leads  the  mind 

T'  attribute  personality  to  God. 

Man  looks  in  Nature's  mirror  and  beholds 

His  own  reflection, — like  a  graceful  tree 

Leaning  above  a  lake, — and  calls  it  God. 

He  stands  upon  the  Brocken  of  the  world, 

Sees  his  gigantic  image  on  the  mist, 

And  deems  the  spectral  effigy  divine. 

Once  I  believed  as  thou.     I  might  again, 

But  for  the  difficulties  in  the  way. 

God,  to  be  God  in  thy  sense  of  the  word, 

Must  be  not  only  wise  and  great,  but  good  ; 

Supremely  good,  aye  !  good  beyond  our  thought, 

Is  thy  God  good  ?     Answer  me  from  thy  heart. 

WALTON. 

Thyself  hast  said  it.     Good  beyond  the  thought. 
Of  men  or  angels.     Take  thine  upward  flight 
Through  space,  upon  imagination's  wing 
For  centuries,  till  thought  is  wearied  quite, 
And  thy  tired  spirit  droops  and  sighs  for  rest ; 
Yet    there    are    heights    above    thee,    all    un- 
reached. 
They    never    can    be    reached    by    aught    save 
God. 


138  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

BELMONT. 

If  so,  then  wisdom,  might, 
And  goodness,  all  are  infinite  in  Him. 
Look  at  this  world,  deluged  with  misery. 
When  has  there  been  in  all  its  history 
An  hour,  a  moment  when  it  could  be  said, 
There  riseth  not  a  bitter  cry  of  woe 
To  Him,  thou  callest  good  ?  Despair  and  death, — 
Hearts  wrung  with  anguish,  mine  among  the 

rest, — 
These,  these  have  been  the  history  of  the  world. 
Has  woman's  piercing  shriek  above  her  dead 
E'er  ceased  to  ring  in  the  Eternal's  ear? 
Has  He  not  heard  the  sound  engirdling  earth, 
The  dismal  wail  caught  up  from  land  to  land  ? 
Man  cries  in  vain  to  God.     He  hears  us  not ; 
Heeds  not  our  frenzied  prayer.  O  God  of  Love, — 
If  such  there  be, — when  I  stood  by  my  son, 
Mine  only  one,  my  boy,  my  beautiful, 
And  saw  the  death-dew  gather  on  his  face, 
I  had  not  prayed  for  many  a  long,  dark  year  ; 
But  being  in  extremity  of  grief, 
I  said,   ' '  Oh  !  mercy,  fearful,  unknown  One. ' ' 
He  gasped  for  breath.     I  fell  upon  my  knees, 
And  cried,   ' '  Behold  my  bleeding  heart,  O  God, 
That  heart  which  Thou  hast  given  me,  if  Thou 

art." 
No  answer  came.    I  heard  the  night  winds  moan  ; 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 39 

I  saw  the  moonlight  resting  on  the  lawn, 

As  peacefully  as  on  my  bridal  eve  ; 

But  heard  not,  saw  not  Him  on  whom  I  called. 

I  could  not  bear  to  see  my  darling  die  ; 

So  I  strode  out  of  doors.     The  stars  moved  on 

Just  as  of  old.     Then  I  gave  up  to  Fate, 

Which  beareth  all  things  onward,  men  and  worlds, 

All,  all  alike,  with  one  resistless  law. 

Therefore  I  say,  the  wisest  are  most  sad  ; 

Yet  wisely  sad.     Their  sorrows  should  lie  hid, 

As  ocean's  horrid  caverns  'neath  the  waves 

Whose  tranquil  surface  ripples  in  the  breeze, 

Or,  stiller  yet,  reflects  the  fleecy  clouds. 

So  should  all  genial  fancies,  lightsome  thoughts, 

Play  o'er  the  great  man's  mind  ;  but  all  things 

grand 
Bury  themselves  within  his  mighty  heart. 
Let  nothing  but  the  lightning  probe  those  depths, 
Those  rock-ribbed   chasms   where    shipwrecked 

treasures  lie. 
Why  speak  of  this  to-night  ?     I  cannot  tell. 
Is  the  wine  poisoned  by  yon  goodly  bowl, 
That  ought  to  give  us  thoughts  if  sad,  yet  sweet  ? 
Ah  !  no.     The  chalice  of  my  life  is  drugged, 
And  I  but  taste  its  bitter  dregs  to-night. 

WAI/TON. 

'T  were  vain  to  say  that  Sorrow  is  not  here, 
Nor  has  been  through  a  sore  and  weary  past. 


140  THE  END    OF    TIME. 

But  joy  has  had  a  dwelling-place  on  earth. 
Man's  cup  is  not  all  bitter.     Not  so  dark 
Seemeth  this  goodly  earth  to  other  eyes. 
The  fireside  circle  with  its  light  and  warmth, 
The  glow  of  health,  the  bounding  pulse's  play  ; 
And  all  th'  exhilarating  sense  of  life, 
When  on  some  balmy  morn  we  wander  forth 
Through  shady  groves,  o'er  meadows  broad  and 

green, 
While   the   young  lambs   are   playing,   and  the 

birds 
Carol  aloft  or  flit  from  tree  to  tree  ; 
The  distant  cock-crow,  and  the  plowboy's  song, 
The  sunshine's  splendor  free  to  all  the  world, 
The  swarms  of  insects  sporting  by  the  rill, 
And  the  blue  sky  above  us,  tell  not  me 
Of  a  malignant  deity  on  high. 
Surely  we  have  the  rains  from  bounteous  heaven, 
And  pastures  rich,  and  kindly  fruits  of  earth, 
Filling  our  hearts  with  gladness  and  with  food. 
Storms  rend  the  sky,  but  then  come  restful  days, 
And  God  bestows  ten  thousand  benefits 
Unneeded  for  existence  on  this  earth, 
But  teaching  us  the  goodness  of  His  heart. 

Forget  not  all  the  pleasure  thou  didst  draw 
From  thy  poor  son.     His  birth  was  hailed  with' 

joy  ; 

And  when  thou  sawest  him  in  his  mother's  arms, 
The  while  she  lay  so  pale,  so  beautiful, 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  141 

Thy  bosom  heaved  with  calm  and  pure  delight. 
For  months  and    years    he    gladdened  all  thy 

home. 
God  lent  him  to  thee  for  a  happy  space  ; 
He  took  his  own, — thy  anguish  knew  no  bounds, 
And  thy  one  sorrow  drowned  a  thousand  joys. 

BELMONT. 

Walton,  O  stay  thine  hand  !     Ope  not  again 
The  wounds  that  I  had  thought  would  bleed  no 

more. 
They  bleed  afresh  to-night. 

WAI/TON. 

I  fain  would  soothe 
Thy  bitter  agony,  not  probe  it  to  the  quick. 
Oh  !  had  the  quiet  of  that  moonlit  hour 
But  calmed  thy  troubled  soul,  and  taught  thee 

trust 
In  God's  great  mercy  !     Hadst  thou  wept  and 

said, 
"  O  God  of  love,  thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done  !  " 

If  an  Almighty  Being  reigns  on  high, 
How  could  it  profit  Him  to  be  unjust, — 
To  be  malign  to  aught  that  He  hath  made  ? 
The  weak  resort  to  treachery  and  guile  ; 
The  avaricious  rob  for  filthy  gain, 


142  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Which  they  could  not  acquire  by  other  means. 
But  boundless  strength  and  boundless  opulence 
Need  not  to  stoop  to  measures  base  like  these. 
Then  shall  we  judge  that  God,  so  often  good, 
Is  yet  malicious  for  pure  malice'  sake  ? 
Hyper-Satanic  and  incredible  ! 

Deep,  in  our  hearts  the  sovereign  power  of  love 
Has  been  implanted  by  our  Maker's  hand, 
That  we  may  love  our  fellow-men,  but  most 
That  we  may  love  the  Fountain  of  all  good. 
For  power  and  wisdom  none  of  us  can  love, 
But  all  love  nobleness,  self-sacrifice, 
Gentleness,  sweetness,  generosity. 
Can  love  be  bought  ?     Ah  !  yes.     But  we  must 

pay 
Gold  for  its  gold  ;  for  love  is  bought  with  love. 
Can  we  love  cruelty  ?    I,ove  malice  ?     No. 
If  God  be  cruel,  be  malignant,  then 
He  hath  so  wrought  the  temper  of  our  souls, 
That  we  can  never  love  Him.     Why  were  this  ? 
Why  give  us  love  for  that  which  He  was  not  ? 
Nay  more,  there  is  a  hatred  in  our  breasts 
For  cruelty,  oppression,  falsehood,  wrong. 
Such  things  deserve  our  hatred  ;  and  we  feel 
That  scorn  of  them  is  virtuous,  is  right. 
Why  form  us  thus,  if  He  deserved  our  hate  ? 
Why  did  He  lift  us  higher  than  the  brutes, 
That  nothing  know  of  virtue  or  of  vice  ? 
At  least,  we  should  not  then  have  hated  Him. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 43 

Why  not  have  framed  us  that  we  should  revere 
What  now  our  inmost  spirits  do  contemn, — 
A  deity  of  malice  and  revenge  ? 
Admire  and  love  the  cruel  and  the  base, 
And  hate  the  godlike,  and  abhor  the  good  ? 
But  as  we  are,  the  noblest  of  our  race 
Most  love  the  good  and  most  detest  the  ill. 
If  God  should  perpetrate  one  cruel  deed, 
It  would  forever  overthrow  His  throne. 
Then  must  we  take  our  choice  between  these  two  : 
A  senseless  substance  which  thou  namest  God, 
An  idiotic  something, — who  knows  what  ? — 
Evolving  from  itself  the  loftiest  minds, 
And  purest  virtues  that  adorn  the  world  ; 
Or  else  a  Being  great,  and  wise,  and  good 
Beyond  the  utmost  limit  of  our  thought  ; 
Whose  ways  we  cannot  fully  understand, 
But  who  has  given  us  His  solemn  pledge, 
That  through  the  ages  He  will  do  the  right. 
Most  Merciful,  Most  Gracious  is  His  name  ; 
Abundant  both  in  goodness  and  in  truth  ; 
Yet  He  will  punish  sin. 

BELMONT. 

Sin  !     Punish  sin  !     And  what  is  sin,  I  pray  ? 

WAI/TON. 

That  which  is  hateful  to  a  holy  God. 
But  say  thyself. 


144  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

BEXMONT. 

Sin  is  a  milestone  on  the  Appian  way, 
Past  which  we  journey  to  th'  eternal  city  ; 
A  stairway  by  whose  steps  we  climb  to  heaven. 
The  brutes  feel  shame  ;  they  never  know  remorse  ; 
For  only  man  on  earth  is  self-condemned. 
Sin  is  an  outer  shell,  that  binds  and  chafes  ; 
We  must  burst  through  it  ere  we  wing  our  flight. 
Oh,  stairway  steep  and  narrow  !    Heaven,  how 

high! 
We  slip,  we  fall,  we  lacerate  our  flesh, 
We  cry  aloud  with  pain,  and  this  is  Hell. 
No  other  hell  awaits  us.     'T  were  unjust. 
Eternal  city,  art  thou  but  a  dream 
Of  slumbering  godhood  in  these  poor,  poor  hearts? 
The  centuries  pass.     Thou  seemst  no  nearer  us. 
If  nearer,  thou  art  still  beyond  our  reach  ; 
And  in  this  curst  Campagna's  pestilence 
We  sicken,  faint,  and  die  afar  from  thee. 
We  die,  alas  !  but  never  live  again. 
Perhaps  the  godhood  that  has  risen  above 
The  brute,  and  sins  and  suffers  now  in  man, 
Shall  reach,  one  day,  the  height  of  sinless  heaven. 
So  thought  the  Nazarene.     It  may  be  true, 
But  not  for  those  who  dwell  on  earth  to-day. 

WALTON. 

And  hast  thou  known  remorse  ? 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  145 

BELMONT. 

The  godhood  in  me  oft  has  felt  its  pang. 

The  iEther  vibrates  in  a  certain  way, 

And  years  pass  by,  and  lo  !  a  random  word 

Falls  on  the  ear  ;  the  former  thrill  returns, 

And  the  dead  Past  leaps  into  life  again. 

Ev'n  while  I  speak,  a  scene  comes  back  to  view  ; 

A  leafy  wood,  a  dim  secluded  nook 

Fanned  by  the  early  breeze,  the  sun  not  up  ; 

Two  surgeons,  and  two  seconds,  I  and  he. 

A   voice  cries   ' '  Fire  ! ' '     One  shot  rings  out. 

'T  is  mine. 
He  pales,  he  sinks,  is  caught  in  friendly  arms, 
And  gently  laid  along  upon  the  sward. 
' '  Shot  through  the  lungs  ' '  :     From  nostrils  and 

from  lips 
Hot  scarlet  blood    flows    forth.     He  gasps   for 

breath, 
And  his  wild  eyes  stare  upward,  all  aghast, 
Into  the  dread  and  fathomless  Abyss 
That  holds  all  worlds  in  its  relentless  grasp. 
' '  Fly  i  ' '  shouts  my  second.     ' '  Fly  !    the  law  ! 

the  law!" 
Have  I  not  fled  o'er  scorching  desert  sands, 
Through  mountain  fastnesses,  o'er  oceans  broad? 
Fled, — but  he  follows  me.     There  's  no  escape. 
Into  that  same  Abyss  my  eyes  look  out, 
Beyond  the  worlds,  beyond  the  Day,  the  I/ight, 


I46  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

The  joy,  the  hope  that  cheer  the  heart  of  man. 
Oh,  that  our  prison  walls,  impalpable, 
Yet  stronger  far  than  thickest  plates  of  steel, 
Would  close,  and  crush  the  universe  and  me  ! 
I  stand  in  battle's  front.     Men  call  me  brave  ; 
They  do  not  know  how  much  I  long  to  die. 
To  right,  to  left  of  me,  a  thousand  fall ; 
My  life  is  charmed.     Alas  !  that  it  is  so. 

WAI/fON. 

Thy  life  is  spared  ;  then  wilt  thou  not  repent  ? 
Thy  sin  was  great,  but  it  may  be  forgiven. 

BKlvMONT. 

Forgiven  ?     The  past  can  never  be  recalled. 
No  power  on  earth,  in  fabled  heaven  or  hell, 
Can  change  a  particle  of  what  has  been. 
Forgive  ?     How  can  the  iEther  pardon  sin  ? 
Unconscious  deity  forgive  a  crime  ? 
The  ancients  should  have  made  another  Fate, 
With  long,  gray  hair,  with  sunken,  haggard  eyes 
Forever  looking  backward  at  the  Past, 
Wringing  her  lean  and  bony  hands  in  vain, 
And  weeping  tears  that  scald  her  withered  cheeks. 

WALTON. 

This  holy  book  reveals  a  conscious  God, 
Who  gave  His  Son  to  die  for  sinful  man. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 47 

His  blood  can  wash,  away  our  foulest  stains, 

Not  by  annihilating  what  is  past, 

But  by  atoning  for  our  blackest  guilt. 

Love  bids  thee  come,  as  multitudes  have  come, 

To  find  forgiveness  in  the  Crucified. 

This  is  the  way  to  holiness  and  heaven  ; 

The  path  thou  treadest  leads  to  death  and  hell. 


CANTO  VIII. 
The  Christ. 

He  said  and  paused,  and  there  was  silence  now 
About  the  festive  board  ;  when  suddenly 
There  fell  upon  their  ears  a  thunder-clap 
With  startling  nearness.     Then  Belmont  arose, 
Went  to  the  tent  door,  and  looked  out  again. 
"  'Tis  very  dark,  without,"  he  said  ;  "Is  this 
The  first  loud  peal,  or  have  the  rest  of  you 
Heard  others  ?  "      Mowbray  answered,     "There 

have  been 
Several  but  none  so  near. ' '     Belmont  returned, 
"  I  do  remember  now,  as  't  were  a  dream, 
The  vague  impression  of  a  sullen  roar, 
Which,  whether  it  were  thunder,  or  the  sound 
Of  cannon  at  a  distance,  I  knew  not. 
Now,  while  I  look,  it  does  not  seem  so  dark, 
The  dusky  outlines  of  the  neighboring  tents 
Show  like  huge  earth-born  monsters  ;  and  afar 
A  glow  hangs  dim  above  the  city  walls. 
Night's  noon  is  near.     I  ever  loved  this  hour, 
So  calm,  so  quiet  after  day's  rude  noise. 
O  Night,  thou  silent  mother  of  us  all, 
148 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 49 

From  whom  we  came,  -to  whom  we  shall  return 
To  slumber  on  thy  breast,  world  without  end  ; 
The  winds,  thy  mystic  daughters,  wail,  as  now  ; 
Thou  speakest  not  a  word.     No  sound  of  grief 
Escapes  thy  lips.     Thou  gently  coverest  us 
With  thy  soft  mantle,  and  we  wake  no  more. 

'T  is  strange  our  spies  come  not.       'T  is  time 
they  should, 
For  it  grows  late.     My  age  demands  repose. 
I  am  not  what  I  was.     These  youthful  sports 
Weary  me,  and  in  truth  I  often  yearn 
To  sink  into  that  long,  unbroken  rest. ' ' 

Returning  to  the  table,  then,  he  said  : 
"Thou  errest  greatly,  Walton.     I  have  marked 
Each  thought,  each  argument  thou  hast  advanced, 
And  nothing  thou  hast  said  is  new  to  me. 
Thou  holdest  still  that  hideous  dream  of  hell, 
Which  artful  priests,  and  women  long  have  taught, 
Priests  unto  women,  women  to  their  babes, 
Who  cover  up  their  heads  for  fear  of  ghosts, 
And  kneel  as  wisely  to  a  vengeful  God. 
The  superstition  tarries  in  the  mind, 
And  grown  men  shrink  from  passing  graves  by 

night, 
And  tremble  at  the  thought  of  endless  woe. 
'T  was  thus  the  priests  for  ages  ruled  the  world, 
But  now  the  world  is  wiser  than  the  priests, 
And  tramples  superstition  in  the  dust  ; 
Nor  brooks  the  folly  which  so  oft  had  driven 


150  THE  END   OF    TIME. 

To  groans  and  prayers  before  a  crucifix, 
Far  from  the  haunts  of  men,  in  cells  and  caves 
Beneath  the  darkly  burning  taper's  ray, 
While  penitents  in  sackcloth,  cord,  and  cowl, 
L,ie  prostrate  on  a  floor  of  earth  or  stone. 
And  now  no  mothers  immolate  their  babes. 
Man  offers  not  whole  human  hecatombs 
To  save  himself  from  hell's  eternal  flames. 
Away,  then,  with  this  frightful  phantasy  ; 
Away  with  priestcraft  and  its  lake  of  fire. 

Then  as  to  Christ,  that  more  than  wondrous 

man, 
In  many  things  so  far  beyond  his  age  ; 
Beautiful  fable  of  those  ancient  times, 
A  smile  upon  the  face  of  deity  ! 
None  can  admire  the  story  more  than  I. 
With  him  in  thought  how  often  have  I  trod 
Along  the  shores  of  I^ake  Gennesaret, 
Or  walked  upon  the  waters  by  his  side  ; 
Have  heard  the  plashing  of  the  mighty  waves, 
Felt  the  cool  waters  lave  my  sandalled  feet, 
Beheld  the  bark  in  which  the  twelve  were  tossed 
Fearful  amid  the  tempest  and  the  gloom. 
I  have  stood  with  him,   where  the  great   have 

failed, 
In  obloquy,  desertion,  torture,  death. 
Then,  where  the  story  into  fable  turns, 
Have  seen  him  issue  from  his  rocky  bed  ; 
Have  heard  his  voice  breathing  of  love  and  peace, 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  I  5  I 

To  those  who  in  his  hour  of  danger  fled. 

Yes,  I  have  seen  him  mounting  to  the  skies, 

And  when  the  cloud  received  him  from  my  sight, 

I  have  turned  sadly  back  to  earth,  convinced 

That  all  the  generations  she  has  borne, 

Could  show  none  like  Him.      Moments   there 

have  been 
When  I  was  tempted  to  admit  His  claims, 
Abandon  truth  and  reason,  and  believe. 
But  it  were  idle  to  believe  a  myth. 
'  Rose  from  the  dead  !     Ascended  into  heaven  ! 
Sits  at  the  right  hand  of  Almighty  God  ! 
Shall  come  to  judge  the  living  and  the  dead  !  ! ' 
What  !  shall  he  sit  upon  a  radiant  throne, 
And  summon  all  the  nations  to  his  bar  ? 
That  Nazarene  ?    That  dead  and  buried  Jew  ? 
How  could  he  judge  the  dead  ?  " 

WALTON. 

The  dead  shall  live  again. 

SEYMOUR. 

Grant  me  a  word.     The  dead  shall  live  again  ? 
Whom  meanest  thou  by  this  ?    The  multitude 
That  dwelt  on  earth  in  all  the  hoary  past  ? 
Populous  cities  ?     L,ong-forgotten  tribes  ? 
The  denizens  of  all  the  varied  climes 


152  THE  END   OF    TIME. 

From  torrid  heats  to  Nova  Zemblas'  snows  ? 
Men  of  the  stone,  the  bronze,  the  iron  age  ? 
Thousands  of  millions  shall  come  forth  again 
Out  of  their  sepulchres  ? 

WALTON. 

Their  souls  still  live. 
Their  bodies  shall  awake  from  out  the  dust, 
And,  re-united  to  their  spirits,  stand 
Before  the  judgment-seat  of  Christ,  our  God. 

SEYMOUR. 

O  madman  !     Ha  !  Ha  !  Ha  ! 

(A  satirical  scream   outside  of  the  tent  echoes  his 

laughter. ) 
(Seymour  turns  pale,  clutches  his  sword-handle,  and 

springs  to  his  feet,  exclaiming,) 
If  there  's  a  devil,  he  's  let  loose  to-night  ! 

BELMONT. 

Be  seated,  Seymour.     Ho  !  there,  sentinel  ! 
Arrest  that  prowler  just  behind  the  tent 
And  bring  him  hither. 

Now  once  more  of  Christ. 
What  I  have  said  is  well.     Would  it  were  all  ! 
But,  ah  !  there  is  a  very  different  side 
To  this  grand  character.     'T  is  terrible 


THE  END    OF    TIME.  1 53 

To  hear  his  threateuings  of  eternal  wrath, 

His  stern  denunciations  of  his  foes  ; 

And  all  are  foes  who  yield  not  to  his  sway. 

Shall  all  the  sheeted  dead  before  him  stand  ? 

And  shall  he  say  to  them  who  loved  him  not, 

"  Depart,  ye  cursed  !  " — whither,  dreadful  Judge  ? 

' '  Into  the  endless  fires,  to  company 

With  devils  and  the  damned  !  "     I  cannot  read 

These  words  without  a  tremor  and  a  rage. 

For  what  have  I  to  do  with  this  dead  Christ  ? 

Dead,  buried  thirty  centuries  ago  ! 

He  be  my  judge  ?     Consign  me  to  the  flames  ? 

Yet  this  is  idle  ;  nor  does  it  become 

My  age,  my  station,  thus  to  fight  the  wind. 

Again  I  tell  thee,  Walton,  he  is  dead. 

'T  is  a  mere  myth,  that  rising  from  the  tomb. 

As  to  the  fact,  I  should  as  soon  believe 

The  Paphian  Venus  rose  from  out  the  sea, 

Or  gods  joined  battle  on  the  plains  of  Troy. 

But  these  his  followers,  who  with  pious  zeal 

Still  prate  you  of  religion,  faith,  and  love, 

And  hypocritically  kneel  and  weep, 

And  beg  for  mercy  from  the  Nazarene, — 

Delivering  all  who  dare  dissent  from  them 

To  the  long  tortures  of  an  endless  hell, — 

Pah  !  how  I  loathe  them  !      Grant  me  this,  O 

Fate, 
In  their  own  blood  to  drown  them,  one  and  all. 
L,et  it  be  said  in  all  earth's  coming  years, 


154  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

That  I  was  leader  of  the  mighty  host, 
That  crushed  beneath   their  heels  this  serpent 
brood. 

WALTON. 

Ere  thou  revilest  thus  God's  blessed  Son, 

Thou  shouldst  bethink  thee  of  thine  own  foul 

god. 
All  souls  of  men  are  part  of  deity, — 
Such  is  thy  faith.     Now  see  what  thence  results. 
All  acts  of  shame,  all  deeds  of  infamy, 
That  have  defiled  the  history  of  the  world, 
Cold-blooded  murders,  shocking  cruelties, 
Done  by  the  inquisition's  rack,  and  fire, 
Have  been  the  acts,  the  deeds,  the  crimes  of  God  ! 
My  God  hates  evil  with  eternal  hate. 
His  view  of  sin  is  not  the  same  with  thine. 
With  thee  it  has  some  element  of  ill ; 
Weakness,  perchance  ;  human  infirmity  ; 
To  be  avoided,  for  it  brings  remorse. 
Thou  dost  rebel  against  God's  just  decree 
To  punish  sin  beyond  this  present  world, 
So  long  as  wickedness  itself  shall  last. 
Not  so  with  them  whose  hearts,  divinely  touched, 
Feel  that  the  wrath  of  Heaven  'gainst  sin  is  just. 
In  them  each  thunder  of  the  fiery  mount 
Wakes  a  responsive  echo.     With  what  joy 
Unto  the  covert  from  the  storm  they  flee  ! 
But  there  are  those — it  may  be  thou  art  one — 


THE   END   OF   TIME.  I  55 

In  whom  a  warfare  long  and  stern  is  waged 
Against  this  painful  sense  of  ill-desert. 
In  vain  the  Spirit  of  the  living  God 
Whispers  of  future  woe,  of  wrath  to  come. 
Such  thoughts  are  deemed  but  enemies  to  peace, 
Foes  to  be  strangled  by  life's  busy  cares, 
Wrenched  from  the  mind,  drowned  in  the  mad- 
dening bowl, 
By  pleasure's  soft  enchantments  charmed  to  rest, 
As  threatening  specters  by  the  lute  and  harp. 
By  such  devices  is  the  heavenly  Guest 
Grieved  quite  away.     Conscience  is  drugged  to 

sleep. 
The  arch  fiend  blinds  the  unbelieving  heart, 
And  marks  the  guilty  spirit  for  his  own. 
Oh  !  it  is  sad  to  see  a  soul  of  man 
Fighting  its  downward  way  to  endless  woe. 
'T  is  said  of  one  of  old  who  ventured  far 
Into  the  mazes  of  a  labyrinth, 
That  through  the  darkness  of  its  tortuous  paths, 
Whence  none  before  him  ever  had  returned, 
He  yet  retraced  his  footsteps  by  the  aid 
Of  a  slight  thread  he  saw  not,  but  could  feel. 
So,  if  there  lingers  in  thy  heart,  Belmont, 
One  faint  misgiving  that  thou  mayst  have  erred, 
If  thou  feelst  aught  of  the  great  love  of  God, 
Which  like  that  slender  thread  retains  its  hold 
On  thee,  thou  wanderer  from  light  and  life, 
Turn  back  thy  feet  before  it  be  too  late. 


156  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

If  thou  wilt  not,  then  mayst  thou  rest  assured, 
There  is  a  Law  from  which  thou  canst  not  fly  ; 
And  a  Law-giver  to  enforce  His  law. 

BELMONT. 

Enough  !     The  die  is  cast. 
Leave  me  then,  Walton  ;  trouble  me  no  more. 
I  might  have  heard  thee  many  years  ago  ; 
But  now  thou  hadst  as  well  talk  to  the  grave. 
I  have  no  hope  of  heaven,  no  fear  of  hell. 
Time  will  decide  between  us,  which  was  right. 
Time  answers  all  enigmas.     It  should  be 
Hewn  out  of  stone,  of  like  colossal  size 
With  Egypt's  sphinx, — set  face  to  face  with  it. 
A  few  more  days  will  solve  all  doubts  for  me, 
However  long  the  rest  of  you  may  live. 
Aye  !  in  a  trice  a  cannon-ball  may  teach — 
Rude  master — more  than  all  the  wisest  men 
Ancient  or  modern.     I  have  made  my  choice. 

WAI/TON. 

But  little  more  remains  for  me  to  say  : 
To  thee,  Belmont,  as  generalissimo, 
I  now  resign  my  place  upon  thy  staff, 
My  rank  and  my  commission  under  arms. 

(He  lays  a  folded  paper  on  the  table  by  Belmont.) 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 57 

My  purpose  is  to  leave  the  camp  at  once, 

Nor  longer  fight  in  this  unholy  war. 

Yet  ere  I  go,  I  take  this  cup  of  wine, 

As  yet  untasted,  and  profess  my  faith 

In  Christ,  the  Crucified,  the  Nazarene. 

Saviour  of  men,  I  see  Thee  on  Thy  cross. 

Thy  life  is  almost  spent.     Thy  dying  eyes 

Are  looking  softly,  tenderly  on  me. 

Thy  heart  beats  slowly,   throbbing   forth  Thy 

love, 
Iyove  that  no  word  of  earth  or  heaven  could 

speak. 
Thou  art  surrounded  by  Thine  enemies  : 
Of  Thine  Apostles  all  but  one  are  fled. 
Ev'n  thus  to-night  in  all  this  mighty  host 
Only  one  heart  is  found  that  pities  Thee. 
Thou  saidst,  ' '  Remember  Me  !  "    If  I  forget 
Thy  love,  Thy  grief,  Thine  agony,  Thy  death, 
Forget  Thou  me  in  the  great  hour  of  doom  ! 

(He  tastes  the  wi?ie,  a?id  replaces  the  cup  on  the 
table.) 


CANTO  IX. 
The  Alarm. 

Now  suddenly  a  cry  of  terror  rose 
And  nearer  grew.     All  started  to  their  feet 
And  hastened  to  the  tent  door.     Still  the  sound 
Waxed  louder  and  more  terrible.     The  camp 
Was  rousing  here  and  there  with  hurried  rush, 
As  when  a  whirlwind  sweeps  along  the  ground 
Covered  with  autumn  leaves.     The  multitude 
Were  in  confusion.     Now  the  drums  began 
To  beat  th'   alarm,    and  the  hoarse    trumpets' 

notes 
Sounded  a  rally.     "  Is  it  a  new  attack  ?  ' ' 
Exclaimed  Belmont.     "  I  hear  no  musketry, 
No  war-cry."     While  he  spoke  the  missing  spies 
Up  to  the  tent  door  rushed  in  breathless  haste. 
"  How  now,  Monteith  ?    What  tidings  dost  thou 

bring  ? ' ' 
Who  thus  replied  : — "  'T  is  strange,  most  strange. 

We  saw 
Upon  the  city  walls  a  ghostly  band 
Treading  the  sentry  rounds.     They  seemed  above 
The  stature  of  mankind  ;  their  raiment,  white, 
158 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 59 

And,  through  the  darkness,  dazzling  to  our  eyes. 

These  things  I  saw  myself.     In  them  there  was 

In  act  and  mien  transcendent  majesty  ; 

And  in  their  hands  bore  each  a  flaming  sword. 

I  would  have  tarried  longer,  but  my  men 

Were  panic-stricken  and  they  fled  amain. 

Our  sentinels  refused  to  let  them  pass. 

Hence  I  o'ertook  them.     Meanwhile   what  we 

saw, 
Was  noised  along  the  outskirts  of  the  camp  ; 
And  to  allay  the  tumult,  on  we  pressed 
Toward  headquarters." 

"  Art  thou  mad,  Monteith  ?  " 
Replied  Belmont : — "  Come,  I  will  go  myself, 
And  see  if  there  be  truth  in  what  thou  sayst. 
But  hold  !  a  speedier  plan  occurs  to  me. 
Haste,  bring  my  largest  field-glass.     It  may  be 
That  of  these  goblins  I  shall  catch  a  glimpse 
Before  they  vanish  out  of  mortal  view. 
Can  they  be  seen  in  th'  dark  ?    Or  shall  I  wait 
For  a  good  flash  of  lightning  ?  ' ' 

Then  Monteith 
Essayed  to  answer  him,  but  peal  on  peal 
Crashed  the  loud  thunders  as  it  were  their  last, 
And  Heaven  were  scourging  Hell,  Hell  cursing 

Heaven. 
Then  said  the  chief :  ' '  Methinks  I  do  descry 
The  cause  of  all  this  panic  ;  't  is  a  trick 
Of  the  shrewd  enemy  this  stormy  night." 


l6o  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Now   was   there  heard    a    strange    sepulchral 

sound. 
It  was  not  thunder.     No.     It  seemed  to  come 
From  some  place  underground.     The  firm  earth 

shook, 
While  overhead  sobbed  the  affrighted  winds  ; 
And  men  began  to  fly  they  knew  not  where. 
I^ouder  than  thousand  thunders  came  a  roar, 
And  this  was  followed  by  unearthly  screams, 
Bitter  as  death,  and  piercing  all  the  air, 
And  some  cursed  God  and  gave  them  up  to  die. 
What  could  it  be  ?     Anon,  a  runner  came 
And  shouted  :  "  Fly  !     Fly  for  your  lives  !     The 

earth 
Is  rent.     An  awful  chasm  has  swallowed  up 
Whole  legions  of  our  troops. ' ' 

"Fly?  saidst  thou;  fly?" 
Exclaimed  Belmont ;   "So  perish  all  who  fly  ! 
Fly  !      Never  !  "      Then  he  stamped  upon   the 

ground, 
And  cried :  "  Be  still,  thou  coward  Earth  !    Be  still, 
Ye  frenzied  winds  !     And  you,  ye  thunderbolts, 
Speak  not  again  !  ' ' 

Then  was  there  heard  a  voice 
Chanting  in  measured  accents  on  the  gale  : 

' '  Day  of  vengeance  !     Day  of  burning, 
All  the  world  to  ashes  turning, 
Seer  and  Sibyl  thee  portend. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  l6l 

Trump  of  God,  thy  clang  astounding, 
Through  the  sepulchres  resounding, 
Quick  and  dead  alike  shall  hear. 

Death  affrighted,  Nature  quaking, 

Myriads  from  their  graves  awaking 

Shall  before  the  judge  appear. 

Book  of  Doom,  thy  blackened  pages 
Hold  the  sins  of  all  the  ages  ; 
Nothing  that  our  fear  assuages. 

King  of  majesty  tremendous, 
Save  me  from  Thy  wrath  stupendous, 
From  the  woe  that  shall  not  end. ' ' 

To  whom  Belmont  :   "  Away,  thou  fool,  away  ! 
Who  art  thou  ? ' '       Seymour  said  :    "  It  is  the 

voice 
Of  crazy  George. "   "  Away  then  !"  said  the  chief; 
"  Off !    Off  to  Bedlam  !     Thou  but  seest  the  flash 
Of  the  mad  lightnings, — hearest  the  frantic  winds, 
Heaven's  thunders,  and  the  groans  of  trembling 

earth. 
A  shame  upon  you,  men.     To-morrow  morn 
Will  bring  a  sky  of  blue,  a  breath  of  spring. ' ' 
' '  To-morrow  ?  ' '    shrieked  the  madman  ;  ' '  Ha  ! 

to-morrow 
Will  be  eternity." 


1 62  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

' '  Again,  I  say, 
Away  !     Begone  ! ' ' 

The  maniac  clenched  his  fists, 
And  cursed  him  with  a  curse  of  withering  hate  ; 
Then  chanted  yet  more  wildly  than  before  : 

"  No  stifled  moan, 

No  dying  groan  ; 

No  parting  cry 

To  the  dear  God  on  high  ! 
The  features  of  his  latest  breath 
As  horrible  remain  in  death. ' ' 

This  said,  he  went  his  way.     At  intervals 

His  voice  rang  through  the  tempest,  as  he  howled 

Like  some  wild  beast :  ' '  Woe  !     Woe  to  all  the 

earth  ! 
Woe  unto  living  men  !     Woe  to  the  dead  !  ' ' 

Now  the  storm  lulled ;  the  thunder  peals  gave 

place 
To  that  low,  sullen  roar,  when  Nature  lies 
Like  a  caged  lion  'neath  th'  uplifted  lash. 
"  Come,"  said  Belmont ;  "  re-enter  now  the  tent, 
Out  of  this  rabble  tumult.     What !  the  lamps 
Are  shattered  ?    One  still  burns.    Relight  the  rest. 
There  is  no  sleep  to-night :  we  must  await 
The  coming  dawn.  Ho  !  Walton,  art  thou  here  ?" 
Who  thus  addressed,  replied  :  ' '  I  would  not  take 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 63 

Advantage  of  the  panic  to  escape. 

Such  had  my  temper  been,  I  would  have  gone 

Without  appearing  in  this  place  to-night. 

You  have  me  in  your  power. ' '     He  laid  his  hand 

Upon  his  breast.    "  Here,  strike  me  to  the  heart, 

If  you  adjudge  that  I  deserve  to  die." 

He  paused.     None  raised  a  hand.     He  said  :  "I 

knew 
The  last  great  day  could  not  be  far  removed  ; 
But  did  not  think  it  was  so  near  as  this. 
Bv'n  yet  't  is  not  too  late.     You  may  repent, 
For  Mercy's  beauteous  gate  is  open  still. 
But,  if  ye  shall  refuse  to  enter  in, 
God's  glittering  sword  is  lifted  up  on  high, 
And  His  wrath  burneth  to  the  lowest  hell. 
Will  none  of  you  go  with  me  ? ' ' 

Seymour  then, 
As  one  bewildered,  sprang  up  from  his  seat. 
Belmont   cried   fiercely,    "  Down  !  thou    traitor, 

down  ! ' ' 
Then  Walton  :  ' '  For  eternity  decide. 
O  what  undying  interests  depend 
Upon  a  single  step.     God  help  thee  now  ! ' ' 
Seymour's  lip  quivered  :  "  If  I  only  thought — ' ' 
"Aye  !  if  thou  thoughtest,"  coldly  said  Belmont ; 
"  I  '11  tell  thee  what  to  do.     Go,  join  the  foe  ! 
Meanly  desert,  and  then  behold  thyself 
To-morrow  when  this  stormy  night  is  past, 
A  renegade  amid  our  enemies, 


164  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Scorn  of  our  camp,  and  deeper  scorn  of  theirs. 
But  surely  know  that  when  the  city  falls 
Into  our  hands,  as  very  soon  it  must, 
Thou  shalt  be  gibbeted  the  first  of  all. ' ' 
In  silence,  then,  he  looked  another  way  : 
But  presently  he  turned  to  him  again  ; 
' '  Art  thou  still  here  ?     Why  waitest  thou  ?     Be- 
gone ! ' ' 
Seymour  sank  in  his  chair  ;  covered  his  face 
With  his  soft  hands,  and  wept  convulsively. 
The  chieftain  sneered  :  ' '  Come,  dry  these  girlish 

tears. 
To-morrow  thou  mayst  leave  the  haunts  of  war. 
I  ever  thought  thou  wert  more  fit  for  love, 
For  song,    and    sparkling    wine,    and   woman's 

smiles, 
Than  for  the  clash  of  arms  on  battlefields." 
Then  he  :  "O   hard,  unfeeling,  wicked  man! 
Thy  taunts  are  too  severe.     'T  is  over  now  ; 
But  there  came  back  a  scene  of  other  days. 
Methought  I  knelt  beside  my  mother's  knee  ; 
Once  more  she  laid  her  hand  upon  my  head, 
And  taught  me  say,  '  Our  Father,'  and  I  felt 
Her  warm  breath,   as  she  said,  '  God  bless  my 

child,' 
And  pressed  her  lips  upon  my  little  cheek  ; 
And  then  I  clasped  my  arms  about  her  neck 
And  fell  asleep  to  dream  of  God  and  Heaven. 
O  Mother  dear,  O  God,  O  piteous  Heaven, 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  165 

Why  do  ye  smile  thus  on  me  from  the  past  ? 
Close  thy  sweet  eyes,  my  mother  !     I  am  all 
Unworthy  of  that  look  of  tenderness. 
Go,  Walton  ;  we  shall  never  meet  again. 
Never,  O  never  !     Think  of  me  as  one 
Whose  light  of  hope  was  gone  out  in  despair  ; 
Who  fought  life's  battle  wearily  and  ill, 
Who  won  not  time,  yet  lost  eternity. ' ' 

Whereat  the  chief: — "  I  too  a  mother  had, 
Who  reared  me  as  a  lioness  her  young. 
Whether  to  bless  or  curse  her,  I  know  not. 
But  she  is  dead,  and  I  shall  follow  soon. ' ' 
' '  Soldiers,  farewell,  a  last,  a  long  farewell ! ' ' 
Said  Walton,  as  he  walked  from  out  the  tent. 

After  a  moment's  pause  Belmont  leaped  up, 
And  drew  his  sword.     "  Halt !  Walton  ;  halt !  " 

he  cried. 
Seymour  rushed  in  between  him  and  the  door  ; 
' '  Stay  !    stay !    Belmont,    and    let    him  go    in 

peace. ' ' 
"  Seymour,  away  !  "     There  was  a  tiger's  look 
In  his  grey  eyes,  and  on  his  parted  lips 
A  ghastly  devil-smile.     ' '  Walton  shall  die. 
His  courage  dazzled  me,  but  shall  not  save 
A  traitor' s  life.   This  sword  shall  not  be  sheathed, 
Till  it  is  bathed  in  blood." 

This  having  said, 
He  thrust  him  from  the  way  and  hastened  forth. 
Then  from  the  blackness  that  o'erhung  the  camp 


1 66  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

There  fell  a  bolt  of  fire  upon  the  point 
Of  his  uplifted  sword,  and  set  the  tent 
Ablaze  with  light  above  the  noonday  sun, 
While  a  strong  sulphurous  odor  filled  the  place, 
And  a  keen  thunder-clap  deafened  all  ears. 
One  instant,  and  the  dazzling  gleam  was  gone  ; 
Then  tremblingly  they  went  without  and  saw 
Belmont  upon  the  ground,  still  sword  in  hand. 
Thus  perished  he,  the  Leader  of  the  host ; 
This,  the  last  death  of  all  the  human  race. 


INTERMEZZO. 

The   Two  Kings. 

It  is  a  castle  strong  and  high, 
And  haughtily  athwart  the  sky 

The  massy  towers  uploom. 
'Tis  night,  and  through  the  windows  gleam 
Full  many  a  light  in  ruddy  stream 

Far  out  upon  the  gloom. 

Midnight  !     The  clangor  of  a  bell 
From  topmost  tower  is  heard  to  swell 

Out  over  sea  and  land  ; 
Over  the  mountain,  down  the  dell, 
Over  the  plain.     They  know  full  well 

The  sound,  that  mystic  band. 

But  never  in  such  sort  before 

Rang  that  knell  the  broad  earth  o'er ; 

Never  so  loud,  so  clear. 
They  list,  they  pale  ;  then  trooping  home, 
Vv  ith  haste,  with  fright,  with  speed  they  come ; 

They  come  in  haste,  and  fear. 
167 


1 68  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

"  To  horse  !  to  horse  !  "     The  coursers  sweep 
O'er  deserts.     On  the  rock}'-  steep 

The  flint-fires  fiercely  flash  ; 
And  where  across  the  wave  they  take 
Their  way,  in  long  and  snowy  wake 

The  steel-trod  billows  dash. 

Anon  they  reach  the  castle  gate. 
The  myriad  lesser  soldiers  wait 

In  clamorous  dread  and  wonder ; 
Three  officers  in  gorgeous  dress 
A-through  the  crowd  and  tumult  press, 

And  at  the  portal  thunder. 

Through  all  the  place  resounds  the  din. 
The  porter's  voice  is  heard  within  : — 

' '  Now  who  be  ye,  and  whence  ? ' ' 
Then  answer  came,  ' '  O  warder  true, 
Famine  and  Slaughter,  they  are  two  ; 

The  third  is  Pestilence." 

This  heard,  the  gate  flies  open  wide. 
Into  the  court  the  chieftains  ride, 

And  hurriedly  dismount. 
Their  foam-flecked  chargers  droop  beside 
The  sculptured  lions'  granite  pride, 

Beside  the  central  fount. 

They  seek  the  hall  where  sits  in  state 
Dusky  yet  grand,  the  Potentate, 
Death,  on  his  iron  throne ; 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 69 

No  courtiers  there  on  either  hand, 
No  body-guards  around  him  stand, 
The  Monarch  is  alone. 

Red  Slaughter  speaks  :   "  Hail,  mighty  Lord, 
I  heard  th'  alarm,  and  stayed  my  sword 

Uplifted  in  the  air. ' ' 
Pale  Famine  next :  "A  mother  stood 
Ready  to  kill  her  babe  for  food  ; 

I  fled  and  left  them  there." 

L,ast  Pestilence  essays  to  speak, — 

A  plague-spot  in  each  burning  cheek  ; 

His  lips  are  deathly  white  : 
"A  glorious  prey  escaped  from  me, 
A  city  sleeping  peacefully  ; 

Why  are  we  here  to-night  ? ' ' 

Then  Death, — his  voice  is  weak  and  drear, — 
"  Slaughter,  my  eldest-born,  draw  near. 

Hush  !     Is  that  door  shut  to  ? 
Famine  and  Pestilence,  all  three, 
Nearer,  come  nearer  unto  me  ; 

Hark  what  I  say  to  you. 

' '  Ye  know  our  lives  are  bound  in  one  ; 
When  dies  the  father,  dies  the  son. 

I  feel  about  my  heart 
A  cold  sensation  and  a  pang, 
As  I  were  struck  by  serpent  fang, 

Or  pierced  by  icy  dart. ' ' 


I70  THE  END    OF   TIME. 

Now  in  that  dim  and  lofty  hall 
A  shudder  seizes  on  them  all, 

Death  and  his  sons,  all  four  ; 
Yet  Slaughter  whispers  :  ' '  Never  fear, 
For  thou  shalt  live  yet  many  a  year, 

A  century,  aye  !  and  more. ' ' 

' '  It  is  a  lie  !  "     The  words  of  doom 
Kcho  sharply  through  the  room. 

They  look, — they  hold  their  breath. 
"  It  was  the  wind,"  saith  Famine  ;  then 
Rolls  through  the  vaulted  arch  again, 

"It  is  a  lie,  O  Death  !" 

Between  them  and  the  bolted  door 
Upriseth  through  the  solid  floor 

A  spectre  gaunt  and  old, 
A  spectre  of  gigantic  size  ; 
Two  blazing  caverns  are  his  eyes, 

His  hands  a  sceptre  hold. 

And  on  his  head  a  diadem, 
Lustrous  with  many  a  sparkling  gem, 

Rests,  ponderous  and  golden  ; 
His  hair  and  beard  are  long  and  hoar, 
In  dark  folds  trail  upon  the  floor 

His  garments  quaint  and  olden. 

"  O  thou,"  he  cries,  "  so  pitiless 

To  mortal  weakness  and  distress, 

Thy  throne  too  long  has  stood. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 71 

Thine  is  a  heart  that  could  not  spare 
The  young,  the  old,  the  brave,  the  fair, 
The  beautiful,  the  good. 

"  Ah  !  why  could  nought  escape  thy  rage, — 
Nor  reverend  feebleness  of  age 

Nor  manhood's  strength  and  pride, 
Nor  infant  nestling  in  the  arms 
Of  its  fond  mother,  nor  the  charms 

Of  the  sweet  youthful  bride  ? 

"  No  cry  for  mercy  e'er  could  turn 
Thee  from  thy  purpose  fell  and  stern, 

Cruel,  relentless  One  ! 
To  thee  no  mercy  shall  be  shown, 
Thy  last  red  thunderbolt  is  thrown. 

O  Death,  thy  work  is  done." 

They  gasp  for  breath,  both  sons  and  sire  ; 
They  quail  before  those  eyes  of  fire  ; 

"  Dread  Goblin,  who  art  thou  ?  " 
' '  Who  am  I  ?     Ha  !     I  heard  that  bell. 
I  too  came  hither.     I  am  Hell  ! 

Death,  dost  thou  know  me  now  ? 

"  Tremble  !     Ye  die  before  the  morn. 
I  that  was  old,  ere  ye  were  born, 

Iyive  on  for  evermore. ' ' 
His  sceptre  strikes  the  iron  crown 
From  off  Death's  head.     It  falleth  down 

And  rings  upon  the  floor. 


172  THE  END   OF    TIME. 

The  clangor  spreads  through  courts  and  halls  ; 
Then  quake  the  ancient  castle  walls 

From  base  to  turret  high. 
The  rabble  soldiery,  that  wait 
Impatient  at  the  guarded  gate, 

Hear  a  loud,  bitter  cry. 

Now  on  the  pavement  hard  and  cold, 
Stamps  with  his  foot,  that  spectre  old  ; 

The  crown  sinks  through  the  stone. 
Then  up  the  yawning  fissure  through 
Bursts  a  flame  of  ghastly  blue 

Before  the  iron  throne. 

From  far  below,  with  reeling  brain 
They  hear  a  howl,  a  clanking  chain  ; 

They  hear  the  surge  and  roar, 
As  of  a  fiery,  heaving  main, 
And  with  one  voice  they  cry  again, 

More  loudly  than  before. 

The  desperate  soldiers  charge  the  guard, 
They  force  the  gate, — to  the  grey  court-yard 

Impetuously  dash. 
They  halt ;  the  boldest  go  before, 
And  rush  against  the  bolted  door. 

It  yieldeth  with  a  crash. 

They  see  in  terror  and  amaze 
A  Spectre  standing  by  a  blaze, 
Wrapped  in  a  long,  dark  shroud. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 73 

Back  they  recoil  appalled,  and  cower. 
' '  Ha  !  Ha  !     It  is  your  mortal  hour  ! ' ' 
The  Goblin  laughs  aloud. 

He  stamps  once  more.     Then  rocks  the  wall ; 
Earth  opens  and  engulfs  them  all, 

King,  castle,  soldier,  son. 
It  closes  with  a  hollow  moan  ; 
Thy  last  red  thunder-bolt  is  thrown  ; 

O  Death,  thy  work  is  done. 


CANTO  X. 

Novissima. 

Now  partial  darkness  rested  on  the  world, 

For  the  quick  lightnings  ceased  to  leap   from 

heaven. 
But  still  earth  trembled,  and  the  sheeted  fire 
Suffused  the  concave  of  th'  o'erhanging  sky- 
Fitfully.     From  midway  the  upper  deep 
The  moon  gloomed  on  the  sight  a  blood-red  spot. 
"Come,  soldiers,"  said  Monteith.     "Delay  not 

thus. 
It  may  be  that  his  life  is  not  extinct, 
And  it  may  be  recovered.     Let  us  see." 
He  led  the  way.     They  raised  the  fallen  chief, 
Bore  him  within  and  laid  him  on  the  board, 
Moving  the  flagon  and  the  cups  aside. 
Then  stripping  off  his  clothes  to  find  the  wound, 
They  saw  a  long  black  mark  adown  his  back 
From  head  to  foot.     It  was  the  lightning's  path. 
"  It  is  all  over  with  him.     He  is  dead. ' ' 
They  bathed  the  corpse,  and  then  in  decent  haste 
Arrayed  the  body,  laying  on  his  breast 
The  blade  that  oft  o'er  battle-fields  had  waved  ; 
But  strove  in  vain  his  features  to  compose. 
i74 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 75 

Do  what  they  would,  a  bitter  scowl  remained. 
Meanwhile  the  news  had  scattered  far  and  wide, 
And  a  crowd  gathered  at  the  marquee  door. 
Then  in  stalked  Vinton,  chanting  mournfully — 

"  No  parting  moan, 
No  dying  groan, 
No  parting  cry, 
To  the  dear  God  on  high  ! ' ' 

They  turn,  they  stare  at  his  fantastic  guise, 
Clothed  in  gay  rags,  while  from  his  wreath-bound 

head 
His  hair  dishevelled  on  his  shoulders  lies. 
He  sings  again  as  he  looks  on  the  dead  : 

' '  The  features  of  his  latest  breath 
As  horrible  remain  in  death." 

At  this  Monteith  exclaimed  :  "  O  leave  the  dead  ! 
For  if  there  be  a  wizard,  thou  art  he. 
Go,  Vinton,  go  in  peace.     We  pity  thee." 
"  Pity  yourselves,  not  me,"  the  madman  said. 
"Yet  go,  good  Vinton  ;  do  !  "  Monteith  replied, 
"  And  lead  this  over-curious  crowd  away." 
' '  It  is  thy  last  command,  and  I  obey. 
Come,  let  us  go."     And  as  he  went,  he  sang, 
"  I  hear  from  far 

Th'  Almighty's  car, 

The  rushing  wing 

Of  cherubim  who  bring 

Jehovah's  Son  to  judgment  dire. 


176  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

I  see  on  high 

The  chariot  wheels  flash  fire. 
Soon  heaven  and  earth  shall  fly- 
Before  that  dread  mysterious  eye 

Which  pierceth  to  Creation's  utmost  shore. 

Time,  hoary  Time,  thyself  shalt  be  no  more. 


With  him  the  rest  in  silence  all  withdrew. 
Then  were  the  lights  extinguished,  all  save  one  ; 
The  tent  door  closed,  a  guard  before  it  placed. 
Seymour  within  paced  slowly  to  and  fro 
Abstractedly,  and  sighed  from  time  to  time. 
The  rest  o'erwearied  sank  upon  the  earth, 
And  slumbered  waiting  for  the  coming  dawn. 

Now  was  there  heard  an  angel  shout  from  heaven, 
And  a  loud  trump  that  shook  the  firmament, 
And  the  earth  answered  with  a  frightful  groan, 
Compared  with  which  her  thunders  all  in  one 
Were  as  the  south  wind's  softly  breathing  plaint. 
Travail,    O   Earth  !    Thy  birth-throes  are  upon 

thee! 
The  countless  nations  sleeping  in  the  dust 
Awake.     Flesh  unto  flesh,  bone  unto  bone 
Join  in  the  graves.     The  coffin-lids  burst  off. 
Up  through  the  sod  struggle  the  sheeted  dead. 
Beautiful  cemeteries,  graveyards  waste 


THE  END   OF    TIME.  \JJ 

And  overgrown  with  thorns  and  briars  rude, 
Lone  hillsides,  dark  and  unfrequented  glens, 
Where,  of  old  time,  Murder  hath  hid  his  prey, 
Teem  with  new  life,   with    numbers    vast    are 

thronged. 
The  monster  sea  disgorges  all  her  dead. 
Shudder,  O  Earth,  thy  death-pangs  are  upon  thee. 

Scarce  are  the  echoes  of  that  dreadful  blast 
Hushed  into  silence,  ere  a  prodigy 
Enters  the  tent, — a  headless  female  form 
In  costly  cerements  robed  ;  and  now  the  skull, 
Stripped  of  its  ornaments,  resumes  its  place, 
But  clothed  with  flesh  as  in  the  former  days, 
And  from  her  eyes  flame  forth  the  fires  of  hell. 
She  shrieks  to  Seymour,    ' '  Wretch,    art    thou 

alive  ? 
Didst  think  that  thou  wouldst  see  my  face  no 

more  ? 
That  I  was  dead  and  ne'er  would  live  again  ? 
To-night  't  was  granted  me  to  leave  the  pit 
And  come  with  Satan  to  thy  last  carouse. ' ' 
Upon  the  instant  comes  a  second  blast 
From  the  dire  trumpet,  and  all  living  men 
Are  changed,  and  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye 
Mortals  become  immortal.     Endless  life 
Thrills  through  affrighted    millions   round    the 

earth ; 
Thrills  through  the  trembling  Seymour,  and  he 

grasps 


178  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

The  fateful  dagger, — strikes  it  to  his  heart, — 
Then  draws  it  forth  all  bloodless  ;  but  the  pain 
Is  more  intense,  than  in  the  mortal  state. 
He  falls  not,  reels  not.     I^ife  in  him  is  strong, 
Strong  for  the  ages  of  eternity. 
And  now  he  cries,   ' '  Great  God,  I  cannot  die  !  ' ' 
And  hurls  the  poniard  down  upon  the  floor. 
Quick  as  the  lightning's  flash,  the  woman  stoops, 
And  snatches  from  the  floor  the  jeweled  blade  ; 
Then  screams,  while  listening  devils  quake  and 

quail, 
' '  I  keep  this  weapon  evermore  for  thee  ! ' ' 


The  Dawn. 

Morning  of  Eternity, 

Dawning  on  Time's  troubled  sea, 

Bid  the  murky  shadows  flee, 

Let  thy  'larum  grand 
An  august  reveille  roll 
Round  the  world  from  pole  to  pole, 
Pass  the  farthest  Ocean's  goal, 
Thunder  o'er  the  land. 

Done  !     The  trump  sublimely  sounds. 
From  the  ancient  battle-grounds, 
From  the  abbey's  sacred  bounds, 
From  the  ruins  hoary, 


THE   END   OF    TIME.  1 79 

Warriors,  on  their  arms  that  sleep, 
Startled  out  of  slumbers  deep, 
From  their  eenturied  bivouac  leap 
At  the  call  of  glory. 

Heroes,  tower  above  the  storm  ! 
With  your  storied  valor  warm  ! 
Shout  the  martial  order,  ' '  Form 

Into  line  of  battle!" 
Haply  hang  above  the  grave 
Banners  once  your  own,  ye  brave  ; 
Seize  again  and  bid  them  wave, 

Where  the  death-shot  rattle. 

Conquerors  from  the  buried  past, 
Deem  ye  this  your  clarion  blast  ? 
Can  these  legions,  trooping  fast, 

Warlike  legions  be  ? 
These,  the  groans  of  soldiers  dying  ? 
That,  the  tramp  of  cowards  flying  ? 
Shrieks,  to  God  for  mercy  crying, 

Shouts  of  victory  ? 

Is  the  earth,  in  terror  quaking, 
With  the  roar  of  ordnance  shaking, 
Or  with  charge  of  horsemen  breaking 

Through  the  front  of  war  ? 
Wherefore,  with  that  quick  surprise, 
Raise  ye  to  the  clouds  your  eyes  ? 


l8o  THE  END    OF   TIME. 

Whom  discern  ye  in  the  skies 
On  His  judgment  car? 

Hearts  that  not  before  have  failed, 
Cheeks  by  peril  never  paled, 
Eyes  in  battle's  brunt  unquailed, 

Own  the  Godhead's  might ; 
Voices  now  in  terror  call, 
' '  Rocks  and  mountains  on  us  fall, 
Cover  us  as  with  the  pall 

Of  eternal  night  !" 


The  misty  curtain  of  the  clouds  rolled  up, 
And  in  the  air,  His  glittering  hosts  amid, 
The  King  of  Glory  from  His  car  stepped  forth, 
And  took  His  seat  upon  the  judgment  throne. 
The  Nazarene's  stern  eyes,  sweeping  the  earth, 
Fell  on  Belmont.     Then  first  the  chieftain  feared. 
Again  the  trumpet  sounded,  and  a  shout 
Went  up  from  all  heaven's  army,  that  the  stars 
Shook  in  their  sockets  ;  direful  meteors  fell, 
As,  when  the  tempests  through  the  forests  rage, 
The  leaves  in   thickening  numbers    strew    the 

ground. 
Then  Earth  swept  out  from  underneath  their  feet, 
And  all  mankind  were  caught  up  to  the  clouds. 
Now  was  the  ponderous  orb  enwrapped  in  flame. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  l8l 

Sped  the  huge  globe  away.     The  lessening  wreck 
Fired  minute-guns,  and  signals  of  distress 
From  her  deep-mouthed  volcanoes  ;  but  the  sun, 
Far  underfoot,  in  sackcloth  veiled  his  face, 
And  with  his  darkling  train  of  planets  fled. 
Now  were  they  left  alone.     The  sky  was  hung 
With  black,  through  which  all  round  the  stars 

shone  red, 
L4ke  demons'  eyeballs  glaring  on  the  scene. 
But  floods  of  light  poured  from  the  great  white 

throne, 
And  lit  each  face  with  glory  or  despair. 

Pause  we,  for  neither  tongue  nor  pen  can  tell 
The  rapture  or  the  horror  of  that  hour. 


And  now  a  hush,  deeper  than  that  of  death, 
Fell  on  the  countless  millions  gathered  there. 
Upon  the  Judge's  left  a  guilty  throng, — 
Alas  !  how  many  they, — waited  their  doom  ; 
But  on  His  right  hand  more  an  hundred-fold, 
With  blissful  eyes  expectant,  fixed  on  Christ, 
Yet  lips  as  silent  as  the  emptied  graves. 
Once  in  eternity  such  silence  is  ! 
About  the  Judge,  behind,  above  the  throne, 
Legions  on  legions  were  of  angels  bright. 
The  books  were  opened, — filled  with   sin    and 
shame 


1 82  THE  END    OF    TIME. 

Of  all  the  kindreds  of  our  fallen  race, 
From  Adam  down  to  the  last  trumpet's  peal. 
Then  an  archangel  brought  the  book  of  life. 
Massive  and  fair,  emblazoned  with  the  cross, 
And  writ  with  names  of  all  that  loved  the  I^ord. 
The  Judge  smiled  sweetly  on  its  opening  page  ; 
But  ere  He  spake,  a  voice  of  man  was  heard, 
Chanting  in  solemn  and  pathetic  strain  : — 

"Thou,  whom  Thrones  and  Powers  obey, 
Trod'st  for  me  life's  rugged  way. 
Save  me  by  Thy  cross  and  pain. ' ' 

'T  was  Vinton,  standing  there  among  the  saved, 
To  his  right  mind  restored,  like  one  of  old. 
Then  twice  ten  thousand  saints  took  up  the  song : 

' '  Seeking  me  Thy  wearied  feet 
Fainted  in  the  noontide  heat. 
Be  thine  anguish  not  in  vain." 

And  tears  welled  forth  from  out  the  sacred  eyes, 

That  oft  had  wept  on  earth  for  sinful  men. 

He  waved  the  hands,  that  once  were  pierced  for 

man, 
Toward  the  ransomed,  while  His  quivering  lips 
Essayed  to  speak  the  words,  ' '  No,  not  in  vain  ! ' ' 
This  said,  the  awful  stillness  came  again 
And  rested  on  the  Christ,  on  angels,  and  on  men. 


CANTO  XL 


Space. 


The  Judgment  over  now,  they  take  their  way 
The  wicked  down  to  hell  to  dwell  with  fiends  ; 
To  the  new  Earth,  the  Christ  with  all  His  Saints, 
And  the  good  Angels,  first-born  sons  of  God, 
Who  as  they  journeyed,  sang  melodious  praise. 

HOLY  ANGELS. 

Almighty  God,  and  heaven's  eternal  King, 
Thee,  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost  we  sing. 
Midway  Thy  presence  evermore  our  flight, 
Through  dazzling  splendors  or  through  darkest 

night. 
When  we  look  backward  to  our  morning's  prime, 
In  thee,  O  God,  we  see  our  joy  sublime  ; 
And,  when  we  forward  turn  our  hopeful  gaze, 
Thou  art  our  all,  our  heaven,  to  endless  days. 
Thus  sail  we  on  upon  a  boundless  sea, 
Midway  forever  Thine  eternity, 
Lost  in  infinitude,  and  yet  at  home  in  Thee  ! 
183 


1 84  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

RAPHAEL. 

Beautiful  home  of  the  ransomed  Ones  ;  thou  art 

fairer  than  heaven, 
Far  away  heaven,  so  long  the  abode  of  the  Christ 

and  His  angels. 
Earth  !  thy  redemption  is  come  ;  thou  hast  cast 

off  thy  fiery  mantle. 
Verdure,  more  lovely  than  ever,  now  smiles  on 

thy  hilltops  and  valleys  ; 
Softer  the  mists  that  droop  o'er  thy  lakes,  or 

cling  to  thy  mountains  ; 
Softer  the  song  of  the  Seas,  where  the  wavelets 

the  sands  are  caressing. 
Barth,  thou  art  freed  from  the  curse  ;  no  grave 

now  thy  surface  disfigures  ; 
Gone  are  the  pain  and  the  weeping  ;  and  hushed 

is  the  cry  of  the  mourner  ; 
Murder  no  more  with  his  eager  clutch  is  throttling 

the  helpless ; 
Silenced  the  screams  of  the  wounded,  and  silenced 

the  shouts  of  the  victors. 
Holiness  everywhere  shall  reign  in  the  hearts  of 

the  Blessed ; 
Peace  of  the  Purified,  bliss  of  the  Glorified  crown 

thee  forever. 

Beautiful  city  of  God,  foretold  by  the  garden  of 
Eden, 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 85 

Sweet  are  thy  groves  and  thy   fountains,  and 

gentle  the  flow  of  thy  river  ; 
Grandly  thy  domes  of  pearl  and  gold  loom  up 

toward  heaven, — 
Height  of  calm,  where  the  lifted  gaze  is  lost  in 

the  azure. 
Here  shall  the  Christ  make  His  home,  and  God 

and  the  Lamb  be  the  temple, 
Light  and  joy  of  the  ransomed  Ones,  in  the  glory 

eternal. 

MICHAEL. 

Sheathed  is  my  sword,  for  the  battle  is  o'er  ;  the 

warfare  accomplished. 
Satan  is  vanquished  again,  his  hosts  are  sunk  in 

Gehenna. 
So  be  it,  God  of  Right ;  may  Thy  foes  thus  perish 

for  ever, 
Angels  or  men  that  dare  to  upraise  a  hand  'gainst 

Jehovah. 


God  of  Eternity,  tell  us  :  Is  conflict  the  law  of 

the  ages  ? 
Peace  for  a  time,  then  again,  the  buckler,   the 

sword,  and  the  war-cry  ? 
And  were  it  wrong  to  wish  that  my  sword  might 

rust  in  its  scabbard  ? 


1 86  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

Banners  stay  furled,  and  shields  uphung  on  the 
points  of  the  lances  ? 


This  be  my  prayer,  if  such  I  should  make,  unto 

Thee,  O  Eternal. 
Will  what  Thou  wilt !     I  obey  ;  for  Thy  will  is 

righteous  and  holy. 
Battle  we  on  without  end,  if  that  be  the  edict  of 

Heaven. 
Great  is  the  Lord  our  God  ;  yea  He  is  alone  in 

His  greatness. 


gabriei,. 

Half  of  Thy  life  had  flown,  O  Lord  our  God,  the 

Eternal, 
Ere  we  began  to  be ;  or  ere  Thou  createdst  an 

angel. 
Moment  supreme  in  the  life-time  of  God,   the 

moment  predestined. 
While  we  stand  there  and  peer  back  o'er  Thy 

limitless  ocean  of  being, 
Silence  is  on  the   Deep,   a  terrible  silence  and 

darkness  ; 
Brink  of  our  nothingness,  infinite  God,  but  the 

marge  of  Thy  fulness. 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 87 

Out  of  that  nothingness  angels  and  archangels 
flashed  into  being  ; 

Not  like  the  lightnings  that  leap  from  the  night- 
cloud,  and  shine  but  a  moment. 

We  are  immortal ;  we  live  while  Thou  livest,  O 
God,  the  Undying. 

Silence  eternal  was  broken  with  song,  with  the 
voice  of  thanksgiving, 

Choiring  the  praise  of  the  Power  that  made  us, 
the  Goodness  that  blessed  us. 

Simple  Thy  law  for  the  angels :  L,ove  God  and 
love  one  another. 


Bright  as  the  sunsets  of  earth  were  the  hours, — 
as  bright  and  as  fleeting. 

Soon  came  ambition  and  pride,  the  daring  rebel- 
lion of  Satan. 

Then  too  the  law  that  had  blest  us  before,  now 
dealt  out  its  curses, 

Teaching  us  Thou  wouldst  reveal  Thyself  in  the 
Good,  by  the  Evil  — 

L,esson  amazing  and  darting  a  light  to  the  heaven 
of  heavens, 

Sin  the  meanwhile  downcasting  its  shadow,  so 
baleful,  to  Tophet. 


1 88  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

O  the  dense  darkness  till  Michael  drave  out  the 

Dragon  from  heaven  ! 
Then  came  the  morning,  the  roseate  morning, 

that  brightened  to  noonday. 
Out  of  the  Nothing  came  Man.     O  Man,  thou 

wonder  of  wonders  ! 
Mystery  fathomless  !   Spirit  and  Matter  distinct, 

yet  united ; 
Giving  thy  life  to  thine  offspring  ;  bound  to  them 

all  by  a  race-tie  ; 
Falling  away  from  God,  for  thyself  and  for  all 

who  came  after ; 
Bringing  the  curse  of  sin  and  of  death,  on  all 

generations 
Knitted  together  like  chain-mail, — an  angel  cannot 

understand  it. 


Joined  to  the  Godhead  thrice  holy  ;  the  Sinless 
made  sin  for  the  sinful, 

Bearing  their  horrible  guilt,  and  the  pangs  that 
were  due  to  transgression. 

Rising,  O  Man,  from  thy  grave,  to  live  for  ever  and 
ever, 

Dwelling  in  yonder  beautiful  home  with  the 
Christ  in  His  Glory  ; 

Washed  from  thy  sins  in  His  blood, — thy  weep- 
ing forgot  in  the  smiling  ; 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  1 89 

Whiter  than  snow  thy  heart,  and  fuller  of  joy 
than  an  angel's. 


Here  as  before  we  beheld  the  beauteous  tints  of 

the  sunset, 
Followed,  alas  !   by  the  Night,  yet  with  starlight 

of  promise  and  mercy  ; 
Followed  in  turn  by  the  Morn,  the  Morn  of  the 

brightness  unending. 
Marvellous  God,  is  this  the  unchangeable  law  of 

Thy  dealings  ? 
Gloamings  that  vanish  away,  but  Midnights  and 

Noondays  abiding  ? 
Thus  shall  we  learn  what  Thou  art  ?    And  thus 

shall  we  fathom  Jehovah  ? 
What  can  we  know  of  Thee  more  ?  And  what  can 

remain  for  the  future  ? 
Can  there  be  wrath   against  sin,  more  just,  O 

God,  or  more  fearful  ? 
Can  there  be  love  more  divine,  or  pity  more  deep 

and  more  tender  ? 
Spare  us,  O  Infinite  One  !  O  spare  us  !  we  tremble 

before  Thee, — 
Not  from  a  fear  of  Thine  anger,  but  from  the 

sight  of  Thy  glory. 
Rest  we  on  Thee,  for  Thy  gentle  arms  shall  up- 
hold us  forever. 


1 90  THE  END   OF   TIME. 

ALL  HOLY   ANGELS. 

Evening  and  Morning  are  Thy  Second  day, 
O  I<ord  Most  High  !  Thy  years  shall  never  fail. 


The  Holy  City. 

They  entered  now  the  circumambient  air, 

That  softly  wrapped    the  earth  with  cloudless 

blue. 
Stars,  that  had  glared  so  red  upon  the  sight, 
Turned    silver-white  and  closed    their   eyes  in 

sleep. 
'T  was  morn.     The  sunlight  fell  on  battlements, 
Next  on  the  tops  of  lofty  palaces, 
On  fountains  throwing  high  their  sheeny  spray, 
And  stole  its  downward  course    to    trees    and 

flowers, 
Glistened  along  the  streets  of  burnished  gold, 
And  shimmered  on  the  river's  rippling  wave. 

Meanwhile  a  cohort  of  the  heavenly  host 
With  doubled  speed  entered  the  city  first, 
And  stood  with  folded  wings  upon  the  wall 
Above  the  gates,  each  gate  a  single  pearl. 
Toward  the  middle  one  upon  the  east, 
Christ,  His  Apostles,  Prophets,  Martyrs  came. 
Before  them  went  the  vanguard  of  the  host 
Angelic,  choiring  in  their  mightiest  notes : 


THE  END   OF   TIME.  191 

•'  Lift  up  your  heads,  O  ye  gates  ; 

And  be  ye  lift  up,  ye  everlasting  doors  ; 

And  the  King  of  glory  shall  come  in. ' ' 
Then  answered  them  the  angels  on  the  wall: 

' '  Who  is  this  King  of  Glory  ?  ' ' 
To  which  a  shout  came  back  in  thunder-tones  : 

' '  The  Lord  strong  and  mighty  ; 

The  Lord  mighty  in  battle." 
Again  with  voices  jubilant  they  cried  ; 

"  Lift  up  your  heads,  O  ye  gates  ; 

Even  lift  them  up,  ye  everlasting  doors  ; 

And  the  King  of  Glory  shall  come  in." 
Then  from  the  cohort : 

' '  Who  is  this  King  of  Glory  ?  ' ' 
And  now  once  more  from  angels  and  from  saints, 
With  rapture  greater  than  the  bliss  of  heaven, 
Because  the  Morning  Stars  together  sang, 
And  all  the  Sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy  : 

"The  Lord  of  Hosts,  He  is  the  King  of  Glory." 


FINIS. 


